I! 


THE  TOP  OF 
THE  MORNING 


ty  of  California 
ern  Regional 
ary  Facility 


ET  WILBOR  TOMPK1NS 


THE  TOP  OF  THE  MORNING 


DONNA 


THE  TOP  OF 
THE  MORNING 


BY 

JULIET  WILBOR  TOMPKINS 

Author  of 
"Dr.  Ellen"  and  "Open  House" 


NEW  YORK 

THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 


Published,  January,  1910 


THE   PREMIER  PRESS 
NEW   YORK 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I  Charlotte's  Little  Boy  ....  9 

II  One  Of  Us 23 

III  Donna's  Last  Week     ....  43 

IV  Lorrimer  Becomes  A  Fad      .     .  83 

V  "Mr.  Gosbek's  Career".     ...  105 

VI  A  Writer  Of  Plays 127 

VII  The  Morning  and  The  Evening,  149 

VIII  Paul  and  Viola 169 

IX  An  Outsider 193 

X  Cameron's  Affair 217 

XI  The  Proving  Of  Us      ....  233 

XII  The  Little  Thing 255 

XIII  The  Glamour 291 

XIV  Paul's  Wife  327 


2227789 


THE  TOP  OF  THE  MORNING 


The  Top  of  the  Morning 

CHAPTER  I. 

CHARLOTTE'S  LITTLE  BOY. 


.  McLEAN  moved  about  the  flat  with 
the  suppressed  smile  of  one  who  had 
the  best  secret  in  the  world  in  her  possession. 
Good  happenings  usually  set  her  humming, 
but  to-night's  mood  was  evidently  too  big  for 
anything  but  an  exultant  silence.  She  even 
handled  the  dishes  quietly  as  she  placed  them 
on  the  blue  and  white  table  cover  that  was  as 
regular  a  feature  of  Sunday  night  supper  as 
the  salad  or  the  toasted  muffins.  Whenever 
she  passed  a  faded  photograph  of  a  little  boy 
in  knickerbockers,  she  stopped  and  studied  it, 
and  once  she  drew  her  hand  caressingly  down 
it,  brushing  off  with  serene  indifference  the 
little  ridge  of  dust  it  left  on  the  edge  of  her 
palm.  When  the  electric  bell  in  the  kitchen 
rang,  she  pressed  the  button  that  opened  the 
front  door,  three  flights  below1  then  threw 

9 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

open  her  own  front  door  and  stood  waiting, 
suppressing  her  air  of  good  news  by  a  firm  re- 
arrangement of  her  lips,  blinking  the  dreams 
out  of  her  eyes,  shrugging  head  and  shoulders 
into  their  everyday  angle. 

"All  five  together,"  she  commented  as  the 
figures  emerged  from  the  lower  dimness. 
"How  did  that  happen?" 

"Lorrimer  and  I  got  into  an  argument  on 
the  doorstep  and  forgot  to  ring  the  bell,"  ex- 
plained the  girl  who  was  leading,  lifting  a 
vivid,  joyous  face  framed  in  windblown  hair. 
"When  Paul  and  Lanse  came,  they  naturally 
joined  in.  We  might  have  been  there  yet  if 
Evelyn  had  not  dashed  up  in  her  grand  motor. 
That  depressed  us,  someway." 

"What  was  the  argument?" 

"The  advantages  of  poverty,"  with  a  laugh. 
"I  don't  care,  they  are  real,"  she  added,  throw- 
ing back  her  rain  coat.  "Paul  agrees  with 


me." 


"If  Donna  spoke  from  any  real  experience 
of  wealth,"  began  Lorrimer.  Mrs.  McLean, 
returning  to  the  dining-room,  heard  the  argu- 
ment rising  again,  and,  ten  minutes  later, 
found  them  still  filling  the  little  hall,  Donna, 
on  the  one  chai^  still  in  the  act  of  taking  off 

10 


CHARLOTTE'S   LITTLE   BOY 

her  overshoes,  the  three  men  vigorously  inter- 
rupting each  other,  Evelyn,  still  in  her  furs, 
looking  on  in  amused  silence. 

"Children,  come!"  she  commanded.  "I 
want  Donna  to  toast  the  muffins,"  she  added 
as  they  obeyed,  lighting  a  small  gas  stove  that 
stood  on  a  table  in  the  corner.  The  toasting 
had  originally  been  done  in  the  kitchen,  but  so 
many  muffins  had  been  ruined  through  the 
toast  maker's  fear  of  missing  something  that 
she  had  been  forced  to  set  up  a  special  Sunday 
night  apparatus  in  the  midst  of  things. 

"Four  apiece,"  announced  Donna,  begin- 
ning to  cut  her  muffins  in  half  somewhat 
clumsily  and  at  reckless  slants.  Lorrimer, 
after  watching  her  unhappily  for  a  moment, 
sprang  up  in  exasperation. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Donna,  let  me  cut 
those.  You  are  butchering  them!"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"Well,  you  know  I'm  stupid  with  my 
hands,"  she  returned,  giving  him  the  knife. 
"We  can't  all  be  T.  Lorrimer  Ffloyds!  Char- 
lotte, why  don't  you  make  Paul  butter  them? 
He  never  shares  in  the  menial  tasks." 

Mrs.  McLean  looked  up  consideringly 
from  her  salad  making. 

Hi 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Ought  I,  Paul?"  she  asked  of  the  man  be- 
side her. 

"Oh,  let  T.  Lorrimer  Ffloyd  do  it;  he  likes 
notoriety,"  was  the  answer.  "Did  you  know 
that  he  cuts  out  everything  he  sees  printed 
about  himself  and  saves  it?  He  has  a  cigar 
box  full  of  remarks  about  the  eminent  carica- 
turist, Lorrimer  Ffloyd.  He  isn't  even 
ashamed  of  it." 

Ffloyd,  who  was  slicing  muffins  with  ex- 
quisite precision,  smiled  behind  his  glasses. 

"Yes;  and  if  I  ever  see  anything  about  you 
in  print,  Paul,  I'll  cut  that  out,  too,"  he  said. 
They  all  laughed,  though  Donna  came  at  once 
to  the  defense. 

"It  will  take  more  than  a  cigar  box  to  hold 
the  clippings  about  Paul,  once  he  gets  discov- 
ered," she  declared  hotly. 

Mrs.  McLean  interposed.  "You  will  all  be 
famous  in  time,  so  don't  scrap  about  it.  Where 
are  the  other  two?" 

"They're  in  the  next  room,  fighting  over  the 
third  act,"  answered  Paul.  "Lanse  wants  to 
hide  the  leading  lady  behind  a  screen,  and 
Evelyn  is  afraid  it  has  been  done  before." 

Mrs.  McLean  summoned  the  reluctant 
playwrights  and  began  serving  things  with  ab- 

12 


sent  minded  profuseness.  Her  laughter  was 
very  near  the  surface  to-night,  and  shone  in 
her  eyes,  even  when  she  was  evidently  not 
listening. 

"Charlotte,  what  is  it?"  Paul  finally  asked. 
"Have  you  sold  a  poster  or  been  asked  for  a 
frontispiece?  What  has  happened?"  The 
others  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"I  knew  Paul  would  discover  it,"  she  cried; 
"I  was  waiting  for  him.  Oh,  children,  it's 
the  best  thing  in  the  world!"  Her  eyes  rested 
on  the  photograph.  "My  boy — my  dear  lit- 
tle boy — will  be  home  next  week." 

"O  Charlotte!  How  perfectly  beautiful!" 
There  was  an  excited  chorus,  and  those  nearest 
her  took  her  hands  and  squeezed  them. 

"Just  thinkj  I  haven't  seen  him  for  over 
three  years,"  she  went  on,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
"His  uncle  has  to  give  up  his  pupils  and  go 
away  for  his  health,  so  Cameron  is  to  come 
back  to  me — perhaps  for  good.  That  dear 
little  man!" 

For  a  while  enthusiasm  for  her  sake  kept 
them  all  jubilant;  but  gradually,  one  by  one, 
they  grew  unwontedly  quiet.  Ffloyd  pushed 
back  his  chair  with  a  frown  and  began  to 

13 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

smoke.  Donna  got  up  and  stared  pensively 
at  the  shabby  old  photograph. 

"You  will  have  to  be  awfully  good  now, 
Charlotte,"  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "You'll 
have  to  be  a  parent  day  and  night,  instead  of 
just  when  you  write  letters.  And  Paul  will 
have  to  expurgate  his  stories." 

"I  know,"  said  Charlotte;  "we  won't  be  so 
free.  But  a  son  is  worth  more  than  that." 
Paul  smiled  at  her  sympathetically. 

"father,"  he  assented. 

"What  is  bothering  me,"  began  Ffloyd,  "is, 
can  we  make  him  one  of  Us?"  They  always 
said  Us  with  a  capital  when  they  were  alone 
together,  these  six.  "Three  years  in  an  Eng- 
lish family — it's  going  to  be  pretty  hard  to 
counteract  that.  Has  he  imagination,  Char- 
lotte?" A  troubled  look  crossed  her  face. 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  said.  "I  only  know 
that  he  is  my  little  boy,  and  he's  coming 
home." 

"And  that  is  quite  enough,"  said  Paul 
quickly.  "Let's  give  him  a  perfectly  rousing 
welcome."  Charlotte's  face  cleared,  and  the 
others  brightened. 

"We'll  cast  him  for  the  leading  juvenile," 
said  Lanse;  "  'Little  Cameron,  son  to  Mrs. 


McLean,  who  unconsciously  plays  the  part  of 
Cupid  and  brings — ' ' 

"Oh,  be  still!"  commanded  Donna.  "Will 
he  have  the  little  room,  Charlotte?  We  might 
fix  it  up  for  him.  I'll  tell  you — a  dado  of 
caricature  rabbits  by  Lorrimer  Ffloyd!" 
Ffloyd  took  out  his  cigar  and  looked  interested. 

"That  is  an  idea,"  he  said.  "And  you  can 
do  some  nonsense  verses^  Donna,  and  we'll 
work  them  in  all  round — shall  we,  Charlotte?" 
Mrs.  McLean  was  radiant. 

"It  would  be  the  dearest  thing  in  the 
world!"  she  exclaimed. 

"When  do  you  expect  him?"  asked  Paul. 

"A  week  from  Wednesday — it  is  a  slow 
boat." 

"Let's  go  and  see  the  room  now,"  Donna 
proposed,  jumping  up.  Five  minutes  later 
they  were  hard  at  work,  sketching,  measuring, 
and  planning,  all  talking  at  once. 

"He'll  enjoy  it;  but  he  will  never  get  the 
fun  out  of  it  that  we're  having  now,"  Donna 
said  when  they  finally  separated  for  the  night. 

All  that  week  they  worked,  planning  and 
devising  things  for  a  boy's  comfort  and  amuse- 
ment, neglecting  or  dropping  their  own  daily 
work  with  generous  readiness.  It  was  their 

15 


apology  for  their  secret  dismay.  For  all 
their  faith  in  the  bond  that  made  them 
"Us,"  they  were  afraid.  Little  groups  in 
a  great  city  tend  to  scatter;  the  world 
is  always  tugging  at  their  most  valu- 
able members,  and  a  small  thing  may  start  a 
loosening  of  the  bond.  With  their  freedom 
of  speech  abridged,  as  it  must  be  in  a  boy's 
presence,  the  charm  might  break;  and  pres- 
ently the  Sunday  suppers  in  Charlotte's  little 
flat  would  become  memories,  and  the  bright- 
est height  of  their  youth  would  be  passed,  the 
splendid  morning  would  have  turned  to  dull 
afternoon.  Donna,  foreseeing  all  this,  fell 
into  days  of  depression  which  culminated  in 
a  poem  called  "Afterwards" — which  she  sold 
for  fifteen  dollars,  thereby  greatly  cheering 
herself.  Paul  became  doubly  affectionate,  al- 
most anxiously  appreciative  of  them  all,  as 
though  dimly  realizing  that  he  might  be  the 
first  to  go,  since  it  was  on  him  that  the  world's 
clutch  fell  most  eagerly.  (These  five  would 
have  put  Paul  highest  had  he  never  laid  his 
wonderful  hands  on  clay  or  marble,  and  felt 
contempt  for  a  world  that  increased  its  de- 
mand for  him  in  simple,  direct  ratio  to  his 
growing  fame.)  The  two  playwrights  were, 

16 


CHARLOTTE'S   LITTLE   BOY 

as  usual,  impenetrably  courteous,  but  Lorri- 
mer  Ffloyd  smoked  morosely  and  said  sharp 
things  about  youth  and  crudity,  and  even 
Charlotte,  at  rare  intervals  between  her  ma- 
ternal rejoicings,  looked  at  them  wistfully,  as 
though  begging  them  to  be  as  wholly  glad  as 
she  was.  There  was  a  faint  hope — though  no 
one  but  Lorrimer  Ffloyd  would  have  worded 
it — that  a  boy  fresh  from  several  years  of  an 
English  boarding  school  would  find  them  and 
their  abstract  topics  a  bore  and  take  himself 
out  of  the  way,  but  knowledge  of  Charlotte 
made  that  improbable:  Charlotte's  son  would 
never  be  out  of  the  way  when  anything  what- 
ever was  going  on.  Lorrimer  drew  a  bitter 
caricature  of  the  six  seated  wearily  about  a 
round-eyed  baby  with  a  nursing  bottle,  but 
had  the  grace  not  to  show  it  to  Charlotte.  The 
others  met  it  with  sounds  of  protest  andUoyalty 
in  their  throats,  but  they  laughed  guiltily. 
Ffloyd  dropped  the  sketch  into  a  portfolio  of 
old  cartoons  and  first  draughts,  and  very  soon 
forgot  all  about  it. 

There  were  several  differences  of  opinion 
before  the  boy's  room  was  finished.  Lanse 
wanted  muslin  curtains  on  the  little  white  iron 
bed,  and  the  picture  of  a  white  surpliced  boy 

'7 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

chorister  with  upturned  face  hung  over  it — • 
"it  would  give  him  such  pretty  little  ideas"; 
but  he  was  hooted  down  and  a  file  of  crouch- 
ing, war-painted  Indians  hung  in  its  place. 

"He  won't  be  any  little  angel  boy  if  he's 
the  son  of  Charlotte,"  commented  Ffloyd. 
"He'll  want  blug." 

By  Saturday  evening  everything  was  prac- 
tically done.  Ffloyd's  animals  pranced  along 
the  walls  bearing  streamers  of  foolish  verse 
such  as  any  boy  who  was  one  of  "Us"  must 
love.  There  was  a  cupboard  for  games,  al- 
ready fitted  with  a  pot  of  mucilage,  a  stamp 
album,  and  a  lump  of  Paul's  modeling  clay. 
The  books  on  the  shelf  above  were  chiefly 
what  Ffloyd  called  hair  curlers,  though  Lanse 
insisted  on  adding  a  volume  of  Keats — "just 
to  see  if  he  has  a  soul  yet."  After  a  final  in- 
spection, they  shut  the  door  on  their  labors 
and  wandered  vaguely  about  the  little  sitting 
room,  all  rather  silent. 

"It  is  the  last  week  we  shall  ever  really  be 
just  Us,"  Donna  said,  a  little  sadly. 

"Come  on,  then,"  called  Ffloyd  with  a  des- 
perate effort  at  gaiety,  pushing  tables  and 
chairs  back  from  the  center  of  the  room. 
"We'll  finish  up  'Alfaretta.' " 

18 


CHARLOTTE'S   LITTLE   BOY 

"Oh,  yes,"  exclaimed  Lanse,  beginning  to 
brighten;  this  was  his  especial  opportunity. 
"Alf aretta,  the  Little  Slave  Girl,"  was  an  un- 
written play  which  had  already  been  drawn 
through  about  nine  acts  on  the  spur  of  various 
moments.  It  had  begun  in  a  serious  attempt 
to  work  out  a  dramatic  situation,  but  had 
gradually  degenerated  into  burlesque  melo- 
drama. They  were  all  clever  at  impromptu, 
and  as  each  actor  was  allowed  to  twist  the  plot 
in  any  way  he  chose,  without  warning,  the  ac- 
tion was  frequently  delayed  until  heroine  or 
villain  could  recover  from  overmastering 
laughter. 

It  proved  to  be  the  "Storm  Scene  in  the 
Castle"  tonight,  and  Evelyn  was  supplying 
such  realistic  thunder  and  lightning  on  the 
piano  that  no  one  heard  a  ring  at  the  flat  door, 
and  the  sound  of  some  one  being  admitted. 
They  were  in  the  act  of  rescuing  the  Little 
Slave  Girl  from  a  dungeon  in  the  Haunted 
Wing  when  a  deep  voice  startled  them  into 
an  unintentional  tableau,  and  a  large,  mascu- 
line presence  filled  the  doorway.  The  stran- 
ger hesitated  for  a  moment,  evidently  dazzled 
by  the  light,  then  began  to  smile. 

19 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  abut  — isn't  one  of 
you  my  mother?" 

There  was  a  cry  from  Charlotte,  a  startled, 
dismayed  sound,  and  a  look  of  bitter  disap- 
pointment flashed  across  her  face.  Then  she 
ran  forward. 

"Cameron!"  she  cried,  and  her  son  gathered 
her  up  in  his  arms  very  much  as  she  had 
dreamed  of  gathering  him  up  any  night  these 
three  years. 

There  was  a  brief  pause;  then  Ffloyd's 
voice  broke  the  silence. 

"So  that's  what  you  call  a  little  boy,  is  it, 
Charlotte?"  he  asked  drily. 

She  drew  away  and  looked  up  at  her  son 
with  bewildered  eyes,  in  which  a  great  won- 
dering pride  was  dawning. 

"I  don't  understand!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Cameron  was  so  little!" 

"But,  my  dear  mother,  that  was  three — 
nearly  four  years  ago;  and  I  was  over  twelve 
then.  I  have  done  an  awful  lot  of  growing," 
he  added. 

"Twelve — so  you  were,"  murmured  Char- 
lotte. "Some  way,  I  never  thought  about  age ; 
you  were  such  a  baby!  And  all  these  years 

20 


CHARLOTTE'S   LITTLE   BOY 

I've  been  looking  at  people's  little  boys — I 
never  noticed  their  big  ones!" 

Paul  came  forward  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"You  don't  know  us,  and  your  mother  is 
too  excited  to  introduce  us,"  he  said,  "but 
we're  awfully  glad  to  see  you  just  the  same. 
We  didn't  expect  you  till  Wednesday." 

"Why,  I  found  I  could  come  on  a  fast  boat 
almost  as  cheap,  so  I  changed  at  the  last  mo- 
ment," said  the  boy,  adding,  with  a  laugh,  "I 
wanted  to  surprise  my  mother." 

"Well,  you  did,"  said  Charlotte  with  a  long 
breath.  "Now,  don't  you  want  to  go  to 
your " 

Ffloyd  gave  a  sudden  wail. 

"His  room,"  he  cried,  "his  little  boy  room!" 
He  began  to  laugh  hysterically.  "The  little 
white  bed  and  the  rabbits,  and  the  hooks  low 
down  so  that  he  can  reach  them !"  There  was 
a  sound  of  dismay  from  Donna,  and  then  they 
all  began  to  laugh,  weakly,  helplessly.  Cam- 
eron stared  at  them,  bewildered. 

"What  is  it?  What  have  I  done?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Nothing,  dear;  you've  just — grown," 
sobbed  his  mother. 

"Oh,   come   and   see   it — Charlotte's   little 

21 


son's  room!"  cried  Ffloyd,  lifting  his  glasses 
to  mop  his  eyes.  "Come  on  I"  They  hurried 
the  boy  down  the  hall  to  the  little  room.  His 
head  nearly  touched  the  gas  fixtures  and  his 
splendid  young  shoulders  seemed  to  reach 
from  wall  to  wall.  Ffloyd  looked  from  him 
to  the  little  iron  bed  and  the  file  of  Indians, 
and  flung  himself  face  down  on  the  counter- 
pane. 

"Lanse's  little  choir  boy,"  he  wept. 

Cameron  stared  about  him,  then  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  frisking  procession  of  animals  that 
crossed  the  wall.  With  a  whoop  of  spon- 
taneous delight,  he  fell  on  his  knees  to  study 
them. 

"Oh,  I  say!  Ripping!"  he  shouted.  "Oh, 
look  at  that  rabbit — oh,  I  say!" 

They  watched  him  breathlessly  as  he 
studied  out  one  of  the  verses,  quite  uncon- 
scious that  he  was  on  trial.  A  splendid  laugh, 
deep  but  with  a  boyish  crack  in  it,  set  them  all 
smiling  at  Charlotte. 

"He's  one  of  Us,"  they  said.  "Never  mind 
his  inches — he's  one  of  Us." 


CHAPTER  II. 

ONE  OF  US. 

"CEE  here,"  began  Cameron  after  a  long 
period  of  silence,  looking  about  from 
one  to  another;  "you're  all  making  money, 
aren't  you?  You're  all  geniuses,  and  famous, 
and  that?" 

Ffloyd,  who  was  lying  flat  on  his  back  across 
the  divan  in  Sunday  night  contentment,  took 
out  his  cigar  and  sent  a  puff  of  smoke  up 
towards  the  ceiling. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  us,"  he  said  seriously. 
"Paul  doesn't  make  money  yet " 

"That's  too  true  to  be  funny,"  objected  Paul. 

"But  he  is  the  real  thing,"  Ffloyd  went  on. 
"We  all  admit  that  we  have  genius,  but  other 
people  are  beginning  to  admit  that  Paul  has. 
The  G.  P.  hasn't  discovered  him  yet,  but  he's 
secretly  acquiring  fame.  People  call  him  a 
sculptor  as  seriously  as  they  would  call  a  man 
a  doctor  or  a  lawyer.  While  when  they  call 
Donna  a  poet,  they  think  they're  getting  off  a 
joke." 

23 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Well,  the  joke  isn't  on  me,"  said  Donna 
placidly;  "it's  on  the  magazines." 

"Donna  and  I  make  money,"  Ffloyd  con- 
tinued. "I  have  a  certain  cheap  notoriety — 
I'm  in  vogue,  while  she  has  enormous  industry 
and  a  blue  hat  with  irises  that  she  puts  on 
which  she  goes  to  call  on  editors.  The  two 
together  net  her  a  fabulous  income.  She's 
entirely  natural  and  simple,  while  Lanse  and 
Evelyn  are  hot-house  products,  artifi- 
cial- 

"Oh,  Lorrimer!"  came  in  indignant  pro- 
test. 

"I  don't  mean  consciously  so;  they  are  gen- 
uine of  their  kind,"  Ffloyd  amended.  "But 
it's  an  elaborate,  hypercivilized  kind,  a  natural 
artificiality.  They  are  drawing-room  orna- 
ments. Lanse  may  do  something  clever  and 
ingenious,  but  he  won't  be  great." 

"He  hasn't  heard  my  third  act  yet,"  said 
Lanse;  "he  doesn't  know." 

"And  how  about  my  mother?"  asked  Cam- 
eron. 

"Your  mother,"  interposed  Paul,  "is  an 
artist,  and  a  lady,  and  the  heart  and  center  of 
Us." 

"And    she's    a    bully    Alfaretta,"    added 

24 


ONE  OF  US 

Ffloyd.  Charlotte  rose  seriously,  and  bowed 
her  thanks. 

"Well,  here's  what  I'm  thinking,"  Cameron 
said,  "Why  can't  I  make  some  money,  too? 
I've  had  loads  of  education — solid  chunks  of 
it;  I  don't  see  why  I  need  any  more." 

"But  there's  no  especial  hurry,  is  there?" 
asked  Ffloyd.  "You  have  only  been  here  a 
few  weeks." 

"I  know;  but  when  you  have  an  expensive 

young  mother  on  your  hands "  Cameron 

began  loftily,  then  ducked  his  head  behind  a 
defensive  elbow  and  peered  around  it  at  Char- 
lotte. 

"Ungrateful  cub,"  she  commented.  "What 
can  you  do,  anyway?  Where  does  your  talent 
lie?" 

"I  might  pose  as  a  model,"  Cameron  sug- 
gested. "Don't  you  want  to  do  a  young  Greek 
god,  Paul?" 

"  'Goliath  at  sweet  sixteen'  would  be  more 
appropriate,"  Donna  observed,  while  they  all 
laughed  at  the  great  overgrown  figure  drawn 
up  Apollo  fashion. 

"I  could  use  those  big  shoulders  of  yours," 
Paul  said,  studying  him  critically.  "They've 
got  the  look  of  youngness  and  strength  that  I 

25 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

want  for  one  of  my  iron  workers.    Bring  them 
down,  if  you  like." 

"What'll  you  give  me?"  the  boy  asked. 

"Cameron!"  protested  his  mother.  "I  am 
ashamed  of  you.  It  is  quite  enough  if  Paul 
wants  you  to  do  it;  you  ought  to  feel  very 
much  honored."  Cameron  was  entirely  un- 
abashed. 

"Not  much,"  he  declared.  "Honor  be 
hanged.  I  want  to  earn  money." 

"You  miserable  little  screw!"  said  Paul. 
"I'll  give  you  fifty  cents  an  hour." 

"Is  that  what  you  generally  pay?" 

"Yes;  and  it's  a  lot  for  a  scrub  model  that 
doesn't  know  anything." 

"Cash  down  at  the  end  of  each  sitting?" 

Paul  nodded. 

"All  right,  then,  it's  a  go;"  and  Cameron 
leaned  back  complacently. 

"Well,  I  never  supposed,"  said  his  mother 
disgustedly,  "that  I  should  live  to  see  a  son  of 
mine  driving  such  a  bargain.  Cameron, 
you're  not  one  of  Us.  You  don't  belong. 
You're  a  sordid,  unsensitive —  Paul,  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  encourage  him." 

"I  didn't  suppose  I  had,  exactly,"  Paul  re- 
turned mildly. 

26 


ONE  OF  US 

Cameron's  shoulders  went  into  business  at 
nine  the  next  morning,,  to  his  great  excite- 
ment. Paul  did  not  require  a  rigid  attitude, 
and  lounging  in  a  pleasant  studio  began  to 
seem  a  very  desirable  way  of  earning  one's 
living  before  the  morning  was  over. 

"And  the  beggars  get  fifty  cents  an  hour 
just  for  this!"  he  exclaimed. 

"It  isn't  all  just  this,"  Paul  returned.  "Wait 
till  you've  had  to  pose  for  a  disk  thrower  or  a 
boar  fighter  or  a  Flying  Mercury,  if  you  want 
to  know  what  backache  and  leg  cramp  are. 
I've  seen  models " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  the  off-hand 
patter  of  accustomed  knuckles.  Cameron,  in 
an  anguish  of  modesty,  grasped  a  table  cover 
and  flung  it  about  his  bare  shoulders  while 
Paul  went  to  the  door.  A  tall  girl  with  rough, 
short  hair,  and  a  painting  apron  of  many  hues 
covering  her  from  neck  to  feet,  stood  frowning 
in  on  them.  There  was  a  gaunt  beauty  about 
her,  and  a  disquieting  look  of  wilful  power. 

"Paul,"  she  began  abruptly,  "that  beast  of 
a  model  has  failed  me  again.  I've  simply  got 
to  have  one  today.  My  stuff  is  promised  for 
tomorrow.  Don't  you  know  any  one  who 
could  help  me  out?" 

27 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

Paul  considered. 

"I  could  perhaps  get  Dougherty  for  you," 
he  finally  suggested;  "that  red-haired  chap, 
you  know." 

"Too  old,"  objected  the  girl.  "I  want  a 
young  fellow." 

"Is  Barnes  engaged?" 

"Oh,  but  he's  such  an  ass!  He  stands  like  a 
block  of  wood  and  doesn't  help  one  a  bit.  I 
want —  That  isn't  a  bad  looking  model  you 
have  there.  Is  he  any  good?"  The  clear 
voice  made  no  pretense  at  a  decent  lowering, 
and  Cameron,  hugging  his  draperies,  turned 
away,  blushing  furiously.  She  studied  the 
back  of  his  head  with  cool  interest. 

"He's  a  trifle  ungainly,  but  I  rather  like 
him,"  she  said.  "Is  his  time  all  taken?" 

"Well,  I  have  him  for  the  next  few  morn- 
ings," said  Paul,  biting  his  lips,  "and  I  fancy 
his  afternoons  are — engaged." 

"Are  they?"  she  demanded.  Cameron 
faced  her  reluctantly.  Her  voice  was  as  com- 
pelling as  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Why,  I — I'm  afraid  so,"  he  said  uncom- 
fortably. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  girl ;  "if  you  can  come 
to  me  for  a  couple  of  hours  this  afternoon,  I'll 

28 


ONE  OF  US 

pay  you  double  rates — a  dollar  an  hour. 
You're  not  worth  it,  but  I'm  in  a  strait."  Cam- 
eron looked  desperately  at  Paul,  who  wickedly 
refused  to  help  him  out,  and  was  so  plainly 
enjoying  the  situation  that  a  gleam  of  defiant 
mischief  came  into  the  boy's  eyes. 

"Why,  yes,  ma'am,  I  think  I  can  manage 
that,"  he  said  gravely. 

"Oh,  see  here "  began  Paul. 

"I  won't  fail  you,  sir;  I'll  be  here  just  as 
usual,"  interposed  Cameron  deftly;  and  shook 
a  threatening  fist  when  the  girl  was  not  look- 
ing. 

"That's  good,"  she  said.  "I'm  on  this  floor, 
five  doors  down.  I  hope  you've  a  fairly  good 
suit — though  it  doesn't  much  matter.  Paul, 
you've  saved  my  life."  And  she  went  out, 
leaving  a  momentary  silence  behind  her.  Then 
Cameron  began  to  dance  with  clumsy  aban- 
don, using  the  table  cover  for  a  scarf. 

"Double  rates,  by  jingo!"  he  exulted. 

"But  you're  not  going  to  do  it?"  protested 
Paul. 

"Oh,  I'm  not?"  commented  the  boy.  "You 
wait,  that's  all."  Then  his  voice  became  in- 
sinuating. "I  say,  Paul,  you  wouldn't  be  a 
low  down  telltale  and  spoil  it,  I  know.  It's 

29 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

just  this  one  day.  I  give  you  my  word  I'll 
tell  my  mother  all  about  it  when  I've  the 
money  in  my  hand;  but  if  she  knew  now,  she 
might  annoy  me.  You'll  keep  dark,  won't 
you?" 

"Well,  of  course  it's  none  of  my  business," 
said  Paul  reluctantly.  ''But — I  don't  know — 
Irene  Potter  isn't  just  the  woman  for  a  kid 
like  you  to —  She's  all  right,  but  she  has 
strange,  pessimistic,  brutal  theories.  I'd  hate 
to  have  you " 

"Oh,  I'm  the  dust  under  her  feet!"  said 
Cameron  blithely.  "She  won't  bother  about 
me.  Now  come  on  and  finish  my  low  neck. 
Double  rates!  Oh,  my!" 

Cameron  was  inwardly  shivering  with  joy 
and  excitement  when  he  knocked  at  the  ground 
glass  door  bearing  the  name  of  "Irene  Potter" 
in  severe  letters.  Miss  Potter  opened  the  door 
for  him,  and  gave  a  curt  nod  of  approval  at 
his  clothes. 

"That  will  do  nicely,"  she  said.  "Just  sit 
down  a  minute  while  I  get  this  canvas  ready." 

He  looked  about  with  interest.  The  room 
had  dull  red  walls,  against  which  a  litter  of 
casts  and  sketches  seemed  to  have  been  flung 
with  savage  energy.  The  furniture  had  the 

30 


ONE   OF  US 

same  air  of  having  been  roughly  pushed  into 
place.  It  was  an  angry  room,  splendid  in  col- 
orings, but  uncheerful  and  unfriendly.  One 
of  Charlotte's  posters  hung  like  a  red  flame 
near  the  door,  and  Cameron  paused  before  it 
in  boyish  pride,  hoping  she  would  say  some- 
thing. As  she  did  not  notice,  he  finally  ven- 
tured a  half  timid : 

"This  is  nice." 

She  looked  up. 

"Um,"  she  said.  "It's  a  McLean  poster — 
Charlotte  McLean.  There's  nice  feeling  in  it 
— she  knows  how  to  handle  colors;  but  the 
drawing's  rotten." 

Cameron  flushed  angrily. 

"I  don't  see  it,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Naturally;  for  you  don't  know  anything 
about  it,"  was  the  cool  answer.  "Look  at  that 
leg,  from  the  knee  down ;"  she  measured  it  off 
with  a  pencil;  "and  now  from  the  knee  up. 
The  proportion  is  all  off.  Can't  you  see?" 

"The  big  magazines  all  take  her  work.  She 
has  all  she  can  do,"  he  said  between  his  teeth. 

"Oh,  the  magazines!" — with  a  shrug  of 
contempt.  "What  do  they  know?"  This 
heresy  was  too  much  for  Cameron.  He  stood 
sulkily  silent.  She  gave  him  a  curious  glance. 

31 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Why  are  you  so  vehement?"  she  asked. 
"Do  you  know  Mrs.  McLean?" 

"Why — yes.  She — she  has  been  very  kind 
to  me,"  he  managed  to  say. 

"Yes,  she  would  be.  Sit  down  here,  please. 
Cross  your  knees  and  lean  back — that's  right; 
you  have  intelligence.  She  has  the  traditional 
kind  heart  that  you  read  about — it's  almost  ex- 
tinct. Turn  your  head  a  little  to  the  left — not 
quite  so  much — that's  it.  She  is  also  very 
much  in  love  with  the  sculptor  you  posed  for 
this  morning.  Please  don't  move!  You've 
spoiled  the  pose." 

Cameron  struggled  to  his  feet,  very  white. 

"I'm  going.  It  isn't  true,"  he  stammered. 
"You  shan't  say  such  things."  His  voice 
broke,  and  hot  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"My  dear  boy!"  She  laid  down  her  brush 
in  amazement.  "I'm  not  defaming  the  good 
lady.  She  has  all  the  virtues.  In  time,  no 
doubt,  she  will  marry  the  wise  and  beautiful 
Paul  and  live  happily  ever  after.  I  speak 
with  all  respect." 

"She  won't!"  he  broke  out  angrily.  "She 
isn't!  It's  a  lie!"  He  turned  and  fumbled 
blindly  about  for  his  hat.  Miss  Potter  laid  a 
compelling  hand  on  his  arm  and  led  him  to 

32 


ONE  OF  US 

the  divan.  He  resisted  for  a  moment,  then 
flung  himself  down  and  buried  his  face 
against  a  cushion. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  standing  over  him  with 
folded  arms.  "It  hurts  like  the  devil.  I'm 
sorry;  but  you've  got  to  face  it  some  time,  and 
you  might  as  well  now.  She  is  a  woman  over 
thirty,  and  you  are  a  boy.  What  did  you  ex- 
pect? You  didn't  think  you  could  marry  her, 
did  you?"  The  question  was  derisive,  but, 
before  his  tense  silence,  the  amusement  left 
her  face.  "Oh,  people  never  marry  when 
they  care  like  that!"  she  went  on  bitterly. 
"You  care  and  care  and  care — first  for  one, 
then  another;  and  finally,  when  you've  no  care 
left  in  you  and  the  fire  is  dead — you  marry." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  Cameron 
lifted  himself  up;  dragging  the  back  of  his 
hand  across  his  forehead.  There  were  dark 
spots  on  the  red  pillow. 

"It  isn't  that,"  he  said  drearily.     "It's— 
something  different.    Do  you  mind  if  I  go?" 

She  frowned  impatiently. 

"Can't  you  stay,  just  two  hours?  You  know 
I've  depended  on  you;  and  my  work  has  to 
be  in  tomorrow.  Don't  you  think  you  can?" 

.Without  a  word,  he  took  his  former  atti- 

33 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

tude,  altering  it  to  suit  her  directions,  and  sat 
motionless  with  eyes  on  the  floor  while  she 
worked.  She  glanced  at  him  curiously  in  the 
pauses  and  started  several  times  to  speak,  but 
laid  down  her  brushes,  went  behind  the  screen, 
and,  coming  back  with  a  two-dollar  bill  in 
in  her  hand,  held  it  out  to  him. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "You're  the  best 
model  I  ever  had.  I'll  give  you  all  the  work 
you  want.  I'm  sorry  I — blundered,  you 
know."  He  looked  straight  up  at  her,  all  the 
boyishness  gone  out  of  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  want  it,"  he  said,  motioning  the 
money  away.  He  was  gone  before  she  could 
protest. 

Paul's  door  stood  open  as  he  passed  and 
he  heard  a  whistle  of  invitation,  but  he  hur- 
ried on,  and,  without  waiting  for  the  elevator, 
plunged  down  the  eight  flights  to  the  street. 
There  he  turned  to  the  north  and  began  to 
walk  at  a  furious  pace,  his  eyes  fixed  doggedly 
ahead. 

Charlotte  waited  dinner  for  him  half  an 
hour,  then  ate  in  lonely  state,  realizing  with 
a  sense  of  surprise  how  forlorn  she  must  have 
been  all  those  years  without  him.  She  was  a 
little  uneasy,  but  supposed  he  was  with  Paul 

34 


ONE  OF  US 

until  that  young  man  himself  came  in.  He 
had  expected  to  find  Cameron  giggling  over 
his  two  dollars  and  his  escapade,  and  his 
mother,  half  disapproving  but  wholly  amused, 
ready  to  laugh  at  it  all  over  again.  When  he 
heard  that  the  boy  had  not  come  back  he 
looked  troubled,  but  said  nothing.  It  was 
nine  o'clock  when  they  heard  his  step  in  the 
hall.  Charlotte  went  to  meet  him. 

"You  bad  boy,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
quite  worried  about  you.  Come  in  and  give 
an  account  of  yourself."  He  paused  in  the 
doorway  on  seeing  Paul,  and  the  color  rose  in 
his  face. 

"I'm  tired.  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed,"  he  said, 
turning  away.  "I've  just  been  on  a  long 
walk." 

"But,  dear,  aren't  you  well?  Don't  you 
want  any  dinner?" 

"No,  nothing — I'm  all  right,"  he  answered, 
avoiding  her  eyes.  "Good  night." 

A  moment  later  they  heard  the  key  turn  in 
his  lock. 

"I  knew  I  ought  not  to  have  let  him,"  Paul 
exclaimed ;  and  he  told  what  he  knew  of  Cam- 
eron's afternoon. 

"Irene    Potter — oh,    yes,"    said    Charlotte 

35 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

slowly.  "An  evil  genius  sort  of  a  girl.  I  met 
her  at  a  luncheon  once,  and  she  criticised  your 
Nimrod;  whereupon  I  rose  and  slew  her.  I 
was  violently  excited,  I  remember.  The  idea 
of  her  daring  to!  But,  Paul,  how  could  she 
have  upset  the  boy  so?" 

"Oh,  she  always  makes  trouble;  just  to 
breathe  in  the  same  room  with  her  is  danger- 
ous," he  answered  irritably.  "She's  storm  in- 
carnate. Confound  her!" 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  believe  it  is  anything. 
He  will  sleep  it  off."  Charlotte's  tone  was 
anxious,  in  spite  of  her  words.  "Perhaps  he'll 
tell  me  in  the  morning.  Is  he  going  to  sit  for 
you  again?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Paul  answered,  getting  up 
to  go.  "He  was  hilarious  all  this  morning. 
I  wish  I  didn't  feel  so  to  blame." 

"There's  no  gaining  man's  estate  without 
growing  pains,"  said  Charlotte  with  a  sigh. 
"Good  night,  my  dear.  You're  such  a  com- 
fort, Paull" 

Cameron  did  not  go  to  the  studio  in  the 
morning.  After  a  very  silent  breakfast,  he 
left  the  house  and  wandered  aimlessly  about 
the  park  till  noon,  crushed  under  a  burden  of 
shame  that  he  would  some  day  smile  to  re- 

36 


ONE   OF  US 

member,  but  that  now  blotted  out  every  other 
feeling  except  a  terrible  sense  of  loneliness,  of 
being  thrown  aside.  He  went  back  at  lunch- 
eon time,  utterly  tired  out,  but  when  he  found 
Paul  seated  at  the  table  in  his  place,  talking 
earnestly  with  Charlotte,  he  turned  and  went 
out  again  without  a  word. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  in  real  alarm. 

"That  is  no  little  boy  trouble,"  said  Char- 
lotte. "I  tried  and  tried  this  morning  to  make 
him  tell  me,  but  I  couldn't  get  within  miles 
of  him.  Paul,  we  must  find  out." 

"I'm  going  to,"  he  said,  rising.  "I'll  come 
back  later." 

He  went  straight  to  his  own  building  and 
knocked  on  the  ground  glass  door  labeled 
"Irene  Potter." 

"Come  in,  Paul,"  she  called  lazily.  She 
was  lying  back  in  a  big  chair  with  her  finished 
drawings  propped  up  in  front  of  her,  study- 
ing them  through  a  haze  of  cigarette  smoke. 

"Good  stuff,  aren't  they?"  she  said,  indi- 
cating the  pictures  with  her  cigarette.  "Much 
too  good  for  that  stupid  magazine.  I  sup- 
pose they'll  kick  at  the  price,  as  usual." 

Paul  came  and  stood  directly  in  front  of  her, 
leaning  on  a  chair  back. 

37 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Irene,"  he  began,  "you  know  that  boy  that 
posed  for  you  yesterday?"  She  nodded  with 
a  slight  frown.  "What  did  you  do  to  him?" 
Paul  demanded,  looking  straight  into  her 
eyes. 

"Why,"  she  said  with  a  shrug,  "I  performed 
a  very  necessary  surgical  operation — though 
quite  unintentionally.  I  don't  deserve  any 
credit." 

"Trimmed  off  a  few  illusions?" 

An  angry  spark  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  merely  made  a  casual 
remark  about  a  woman — with  whom,  as  it 
turned  out,  he  is  in  love.  I  couldn't  have  fore- 
seen that,  exactly." 

"In  love!"  Paul  exclaimed.  "What  non- 
sense, Irene!  He's  a  boy,  an  infant.  He  is 
not  in  love  with  any  one.  I  know  it.  Who 
was  the  girl?" 

"Not  a  girl  at  all — a  lady  who  does  posters, 
and  frequently  gets  out  of  the  elevator  on  this 
floor."  A  startled  look  crossed  Paul's  face 
and  his  eyes  turned  involuntarily  towards  the 
crimson  poster  by  the  door.  She  nodded. 

"WThat  did  you  say  of  her?" 

"Nothing  derogatory.  Merely  what  you 
know  better  than  any  one,  Paul!"  Her  eyes 

3? 


ONE   OF.  US 

challenged  his  and  he  would  not  lower  them, 
though  he  knew  he  had  turned  white.  "Sure- 
ly you  are  not  pretending  to  think  it's  a  dis- 
grace for  a  woman  to  be  in  love  with  a  man?" 
she  pursued  temperately.  "You're  not  going 
back  to  that  silly  convention?" 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  but  at  the  door 
he  paused. 

"That  was  her  son,"  he  said,  and  went  out. 
He  heard  her  break  into  a  startled  laugh  as 
he  shut  the  door,  and  the  color  surged  up  into 
his  face.  He  half  turned  back,  then  went  on 
to  his  own  rooms. 

"What's  the  use?"  he  muttered.  "She 
couldn't  understand.  Oh,  good  Godl" 

Charlotte  was  sitting  idly  by  the  fire,  too 
troubled  to  work,  when  Cameron  came  in 
again. 

"Well,  little  boy?"  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hand  to  him.  He  came  and  leaned  against 
the  fireplace,  his  eyes  on  the  coals. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  go  to  work — 
I  don't  care  what  or  how.  This  posing  was 
just  fun,  of  course.  I  want  to  do  some  real 
work,  if  it's  only  as  an  office  boy.  I  hope  you 
won't  object?"  He  tried  to  make  his  voice 

39 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

cool  and  formal,  but  for  all  his  efforts  it  trem- 
bled. 

"Not  if  you  want  to,  dear,"  she  said  quietly; 
"though  I  hoped  you  would  go  through  col- 
lege. We  are  not  hard  up  now — we  have 
more  than  we  spend,  with  what  I  earn.  Did 
you  think  we  were?" 

He  knelt  down  and  began  to  stir  the 
coals. 

"But  things  may  not  stay  just  the  same," 
he  said,  trying  to  speak  casually.  "You  might 

— marry,   or   something.     That  would " 

He  broke  off  abruptly. 

"Marry!"  exclaimed  Charlotte  in  such  gen- 
uine amazement  that  his  shoulders  betrayed  a 
little  start  of  joy.  "Marry?  My  dear  boy,  I 
have  no  intention  of  doing  any  such  thing." 
He  turned  and  met  her  eyes  for  the  first  time 
that  day. 

"O  mother,  truly?"  he  exclaimed,  laying 
both  his  hands  on  her  knees. 

"Truly,  my  dear  child!  How  could  you 
have  taken  such  an  idea?" 

He  leaned  up  against  her  and  laid  his  face 
on  her  hands.  "Oh,  gee!"  he  breathed.  Then 
he  gave  a  little  laugh.  "I'm  so  glad,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

40 


ONE  OF  US 

"You  take  life  rather  hard,  little  boy,"  she 
said  regretfully.  "I'm  afraid  you  are  one  of 
Us,  after  all!  Would  it  be  so  very  dreadful 
to  you?"  she  added  after  a  pause,  her  eyes  on 
the  fire.  He  nodded,  with  a  long  breath. 

"Well,  dear,  I  never  will  while  you  feel 
that  way.  You  may  be  perfectly  certain  of 
that,"  she  said  cheerfully,  stroking  his  hair. 
But  there  was  a  look  on  her  face  that  he  would 
remember  and  understand  years  later.  One 
comes  slowly  to  the  discovery  that  thirty-five 
is  not  the  middle  age  it  once  seemed,  and  that 
youth  and  the  zest  for  life  do  not  always  end 
at  the  traditional  limits. 

Paul  came  in  that  night,  to  find  Donna  and 
Lorrimer  already  there,  and  Cameron  in  up- 
roarious spirits.  He  looked  a  question  at 
Charlotte,  who  smiled  reassuringly. 

"It  is  all  right,"  she  said  to  him.  "The  poor 
child  had  a  nonsensical  idea  in  his  head,  but 
it's  gone  now.  You  are  pale  tonight,  Paul." 

"And  you're  tired,"  he  answered.  The  sym- 
pathy of  his  voice  brought  a  sudden  look  of 
tears  to  her  eyes. 

"O  Paul,"  she  said  again,  "you're  such  a 
comfort!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK. 

(4- 


Paul.  "He  knew  he  had  to  suffer,  anyway 
— there  was  nothing  on  earth  she  could  do  to 
help  or  prevent  it;  he  might  have  had  the 
grace  to  keep  it  to  himself." 

"I  don't  know,"  objected  Ffloyd;  "I  think 
he  had  a  right  to  the  help  of  her  sympathy  if 
he  wanted  it." 

"Besides,"  added  Charlotte,  "would  she 
ever  have  forgiven  him  for  shutting  her  out 
at  the  very  biggest  moment  of  his  life?  I 
wouldn't,  I  know — no  matter  what  suffering  it 
saved  me." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Paul  excitedly;  "he 
ought  to  have  been  big  enough  to  take  even 
her  unforgiveness  if  it  kept  her  from  going 
through  that  horrible  ordeal  with  him,  inch 
by  inch.  Lord!  Think  what  it  must  have 
meant  to  her!"  He  got  up  and  began  to  walk 
restlessly  about  the  room. 

"Paul  is  right,"  said  Donna,  who  had  been 

43 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

listening  with  the  wide-eyed  absorption  she 
gave  to  everything.  "I  agree  with  him  abso- 
lutely." 

"How  unusual!"  commented  Ffloyd,  and 
they  all  laughed,  Donna  as  heartily  as  any 
one.  "How  does  it  feel,  Paul,  to  be  the  center 
of  an  admiring  circle?"  Ffloyd  went  on. 

"How  does  it  feel  to  be  a  silly  ass?"  Paul 
returned  shortly. 

This  conversation  came  back  to  Donna  with 
sudden  force  as  she  left  the  doctor's  a  few  days 
later,  looking  white  and  limp. 

"Now,  you  are  not  to  worry,"  the  doctor 
had  said.  "I  will  find  out  all  about  the  dog, 
but  it's  ninety-nine  to  a  hundred  he  was  just 
ill  tempered.  He'll  never  bite  any  one  again, 
I  can  tell  you.  Come  in  and  let  me  see  you 
every  day  or  two,  but  don't  think  about  it  any 
more  than  you  can  help." 

"Oh,  of  course  it's  all  right.  I  shan't  wor- 
ry," Donna  had  said  cheerfully.  They  knew 
this  was  sheer  bravado,  but  it  eased  the  situa- 
tion. They  were  both  so  afraid  she  would 
cry. 

She  went  home  to  her  little  bachelor  apart- 
ment and  curled  up,  feeling  very  weak  and 
sick,  to  face  the  matter.  How  would  they 

44 


DONNA'S    LAST   WEEK 

all  take  it?  Paul  would  be  distressed;  he 
would  want  to  know  all  about  it,  to  the  last 
detail,  and  he  would  make  her  the  center  of 
importance  for  the  time  being.  She  smiled 
up  at  a  plaster  head  of  his  Nimrod  on  the  wall 
above.  Ffloyd  would  be  concerned — when  he 
remembered.  He  would  ask  her  frequently 
how  she  was,  and  listen  to  her  answer  if  it  was 
not  too  long.  Lanse  would  take  it  from  the 
picturesque  angle  and  enjoy  it  immensely, 
while  Evelyn  would  send  flowers.  Charlotte 
would  be  all  sympathy  and  anxiety,  and  Cam- 
eron would  be  outrageously  funny  on  the  sub- 
ject. But  every  one  of  them  would  be  uneasy, 
she  knew.  Paul's  words,  "He  might  have  had 
the  grace  to  keep  it  to  himself,"  came  back  to 
her  persistently.  Paul  was  right.  No  one 
must  be  told. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  doctor  called  her 
to  the  telephone  for  further  particulars  about 
the  accident.  He  had  not  been  able  to  find  the 
dog.  Neighbors  declared  that  it  belonged 
to  the  grocery  on  the  corner,  but  the  grocery 
swore  that  it  was  the  property  of  a  boy  who 
had  been  discharged  that  morning  and  whose 
'whereabouts  were  unknown.  The  doctor 
spoke  tentatively  of  a  hospital  and  the  Pas- 

45 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

teur  treatment,  "to  be  on  the  safe  side,"  but 
Donna  vigorously  refused. 

"That  dog  wasn't  mad,"  she  insisted.  "He 
was  merely  cross.  He  didn't  foam  at  the 
mouth  or  anything." 

"Just  what  did  he  do?" 

Her  details  were  meagre.  She  had  passed 
a  curly  brown  and  white  dog  without  really 
noticing  him;  an  instant  later  she  had  felt  a 
vicious  clutch  just  above  her  ankle.  A  thin 
youth  with  yards  of  red  wrist  had  pulled  off 
the  dog;  he  must  have  been  the  discharged 
grocer's  boy.  Some  one  was  named  Pete — 
probably  the  dog;  yes,  of  course — the  boy 
wouldn't  have  yelled  his  own  name;  but  it 
was  all  very  confused.  A  car  had  come  just 
then  and  she  had  hurriedly  taken  it  to  get 
away  from  the  crowd. 

"But  we  shall  hear  of  his  biting  other  peo- 
ple, if  he  has  rabies,"  she  insisted. 

"No  doubt,"  said  the  doctor  drily.  "Still, 
my  advice  to  you " 

But  Donna  would  hear  nothing  of  advice 
that  immured  her  in  a  hospital.  "Mad  dogs 
don't  happen  to  people,  you  know;  they  are 
only  newspaper  incidents,"  she  explained. 

Her  confidence  was  not  quite  so  assertive 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

when  she  had  hung  up  the  receiver;  but  a 
literary  cast  of  mind  is  a  great  blessing.  In- 
stead of  facing  the  chance  of  hydrophobia  as 
the  average  person  would,  with  dismal  fore- 
bodings resulting  in  general  depression, 
Donna  scented  a  valuable  situation,  and  felt 
a  distinct  exhilaration  at  the  idea  of  working 
it  out  with  herself  as  heroine.  She  was  never 
proof  against  "copy,'  even  when  furnished  at 
her  own  expense. 

"Now,"  she  said  triumphantly,  as  she  went 
to  bed  that  night,  "I  will  live  just  as  I  would 
if  I  knew  for  certain  these  were  my  last  weeks 
on  earth.  I  don't  know  whether  I  will  be  good 
or  bad,  but  I'll  be  something!" 

During  the  next  few  days,  while  the  two 
ugly  marks  above  her  right  shoe  top  were 
still  painful,  Donna  put  her  wardrobe  in  ex- 
quisite order,  replacing  buttons  that  had  been 
off  for  months,  cleaning  the  insides  of  collars 
and  the  under  sides  of  sleeves,  and  throwing 
away  disreputable  treasures  in  the  way  of  bat- 
tered slippers  and  broken  combs.  The  wild 
confusion  of  papers  in  her  desk  was  replaced 
by  a  few  neat  packages,  one  of  them  labeled, 
"To  be  destroyed  in  case  of  my  death."  She 
took  a  great  satisfaction  in  that.  Everything 

47 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

was  prepared  for  inspection,  even  to  the  eras- 
ing of  some  marginal  marks  she  had  made  in 
her  Swinburne  at  an  earlier  stage  of  her  de- 
velopment. Then,  still  limping  a  little,  she 
went  off  to  Sunday  night  tea  at  Charlotte's. 

"From  a  coroner's  standpoint,  everything 
is  perfect,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Now  to  make 
the  most  of  things!" 

The  last  comer  had  left  the  flat  door  un- 
latched, so  she  let  herself  in  without  ringing 
the  upper  bell.  Charlotte's  splendid  laugh, 
that  they  all  loved  and  did  their  best  to  rouse, 
came  from  the  sitting  room.  Donna  paused 
in  the  unlighted  sitting  room  and  looked  in 
at  them.  Ffloyd,  tipped  back  in  his  chair, 
and  smoking,  of  course,  was  laying  down  the 
law  to  Cameron,  who  listened  with  boyish  in- 
tentness.  Lanse  and  Evelyn  were  making  the 
toast,  talking  in  their  usual  excited  undertone. 
According  to  Ffloyd,  there  had  not  been  a 
pause  in  their  conversation  for  five  years. 
Paul  was  pouring  oil,  drop  by  drop,  into  the 
bowl  in  which  Charlotte  was  mixing  her 
mayonnaise.  They  seemed  so  satisfied,  so  com- 
plete without  her,  that  Donna  felt  suddenly 
neglected  and  desolate. 

"If  I  came  back  from  the  dead,  that  is  the 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

way  I  should  find  them,"  she  thought  miser- 
ably. "I  am  utterly  unimportant  and  forgot- 
ten. If  Charlotte  were  away,  they  would  all 
be  lost  and  forlorn.  And  if  Paul " 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Charlotte  suddenly, 
"Donna  rang  the  lower  bell  five  minutes  ago. 
Why  doesn't  she  come  up?" 

"I'll  go  and  see,"  three  of  them  began  at 
once ;  and  Donna  could  have  died  for  them  in 
her  gratitude.  Her  spirits  rose  with  a  jump. 
She  came  forward  with  a  happy  laugh. 

"Here  she  is.  Your  front  door  wasn't  shut," 
she  said.  "You  all  looked  so  nice,  I  stopped 
to  admire  you." 

"Bet  you  hoped  we'd  say  something  good 
about  you,"  suggested  Ffloyd,  giving  her  chair 
a  friendly  shake. 

"What  a  pity  we  didn't!"  added  Paul,  smil- 
ing across  at  her.  A  little  glow  spread  all 
through  her  till  she  could  have  cried  in  her 
happiness  and  relief.  She  was  still  one  of 
"Us ;"  she  still  mattered  to  them.  They  would 
really  care  if 

"Look  here,"  she  began  presently;  "if  you 
knew,  each  one  of  you,  that  you  had  just  a 
little  while — say  a  week  more  to  live,  how 
would  you  spend  it?  Would  you  be  very  good 

49 


THE  TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

— or    very    bad?     What    would    you    do?" 

"You  mean,  you'd  be  perfectly  certain  to 
die  at  the  end  of  the  seven  days?"  Ffloyd  asked. 
She  nodded  expectantly.  "Why,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  gravely  through  a  haze  of 
smoke,  "I'd  marry  you,  Donnie." 

She  laughed. 

"Well,  I'd  rather  be  your  widow  than  some 
people's  wife,"  she  admitted.  "What  would 
the  rest  of  you  do?" 

Lanse,  whose  pink  and  white  skin  and  sil- 
very blond  hair  were  only  faintly  contradicted 
by  the  worldly  wisdom  of  his  eyes,  looked  up 
seriously. 

"I  should  work  up  a  big  exit  some  way,"  he 
said.  "I'd  spend  every  cent  I  possess,  throw 
it  right  and  left — ten  dollars  to  the  bootblack, 
fifty  to  the  waiter;  live  en  prince  and  time  it 
so  that  there  wouldn't  be  one  cent  left  when 
I  died — not  even  to  bury  me  with.  Think 
what  a  jolly  sensation  it  would  make!" 

"Most  of  us  couldn't  play  that  game  more 
than  one  day,"  objected  Charlotte.  "In  fact, 
I  couldn't  live  en  prince  much  over  twenty 
minutes.  What  would  you  do,  Paul?" 

"I  think  I  should  devote  myself  absolutely 
to  the  people  I  was  fond  of,"  he  began.  "I 

50 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

would  be  to  them  all  the  things  I  could  be 
now,  but  some  way  don't  get  time  for.  If  I 
felt  affectionate,  I'd  show  it  just  as  I  pleased 
without  bothering  about  consequences  and 
misunderstandings.  Lord,  wouldn't  it  be  a  re- 
lief! I've  been  cramped  all  my  life.  Now, 
when  we  came  in  tonight,  and  you  laughed 
that  wonderful  laugh  of  yours,  Charlotte,  and 
I  hadn't  seen  you  for  three  days — I  wanted  to 
give  you  a  large  embrace." 

"Well,  why  on  earth  didn't  you?"  demanded 
Charlotte. 

"Mother,  remember  that  I  am  here,"  Cam- 
eron interposed  with  great  dignity,  but  got 
no  attention  whatever. 

"It  wouldn't  do,"  Paul  said  sadly.  "I— I 
learned  that  early  in  life.  It  makes  trouble, 
and  women  don't  understand.  You  might, 
Charlotte,  but  you're  the  only  one;  and  I 
wouldn't  risk  it.  But  with  seven  days'  warn- 
ing, wouldn't  I  let  go!" 

"What  else  would  you  do?"  asked  Lanse. 

"I'd  make  faces  at  every  one  I  disliked," 
said  Paul,  growing  excited.  "If  strangers  ir- 
ritated me  by  the  quality  of  their  voices  or  the 
shape  of  their  noses,  I'd  swear  at  them.  And 
if  I  saw  a  woman  who  was  beautiful  on  the 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

street,  I'd  go  up  and  tell  her  so  and  thank  her 
for  it." 

"Yes,  and  you'd  spend  six  happy  days  in 
the  lockup,"  said  Cameron.  That  rather 
quenched  the  discussion;  but  Donna  had 
found  her  way. 

"I  would  be  to  them  all  the  things  I  could 
be  now,  but  someway  don't  get  time  for,"  she 
repeated  to  herself.  "Oh,  beautiful!" 

She  said  little  that  evening,  but  sat  watch- 
ing them  with  shining  eyes.  The  little  group 
meant  so  much  to  her.  Charlotte  had  her  son, 
Lanse  and  Evelyn  had  big  homes  and  families 
and  social  ties,  Paul's  contact  with  life  was 
rich  and  many-sided,  and  Lorrimer  Ffloyd 
was  self  absorbed,  little  dependent  on  human 
relations ;  but  Donna  had  no  other  world,  and 
desired  none.  Having  a  modest  spirit,  she 
often  marvelled,  alone  at  home,  that  they 
should  so  value  her,  never  realizing  how  the 
inborn  gift  that  gave  her  fresh  vision  for  lit- 
tle common  daily  things  lent  charm  to  her 
speech ;  never  recognizing  that  the  whole- 
souled  devotion,  the  unstinted  admiration, 
which  she  poured  out  as  a  cheerful  matter  of 
course,  were  anything  more  than  a  friend's  due 
offering. 

52 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

Donna  evidently  has  a  marketable  idea," 
commented  Charlotte.  "She  sits  there  simply 
radiating  light.  What  is  it — fiction?" 

"No,  'flection,"  said  Donna. 

"Which  of  us  do  you  like  best?"  asked  Lor- 
rimer  Ffloyd,  who  was  given  to  probing  and 
uncomfortable  questions,  and  had  a  vivisec- 
tionist's  cool  interest  in  watching  the  results. 
Paul  made  a  sound  of  protest,  but  Donna  was 
not  disturbed. 

"That  is  like  asking  whether  I  like  my  heart 
or  my  lungs  best,"  she  objected.  "You  are  a 
whole,  don't  you  see.  You're  Us." 

Cameron,  much  taken  with  the  simile, 
wanted  to  extend  it,  and  had  to  be  suppressed 
by  his  mother.  She  would  have  changed  the 
subject,  but  Ffloyd  stuck  to  his  attack. 

"You  are  all  so  afraid  of  the  truth,"  he  com- 
plained. "I  mean,  every  one  is,  everywhere. 
Now,  I  haven't  a  doubt  that  Donna  really 
likes  me  best;"  all  that  was  nicest  in  Ffloyd 
came  out  in  his  smile;  "but  wild  horses  could 
not  make  her  say  so.  Yet  why  should  it  hurt 
the  rest  of  you,  when  you  each  know  in  your 
hearts  that  you  like  some  one  best?" 

"Oh,  but  it  isn't  that!"  they  all  began  at 
once,  then  stopped  with  a  laugh.  "It  is  what 

53 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

you  might  infer,  with  your  masculine  conceit," 
Charlotte  explained. 

"If  Donna  could  be  wholly  honest,  I  should 
have  no  chance  to  pride  myself  on  a  conquest 
— unless  it  were  a  fact;"  Ffloyd  spoke  with 
the  deliberate  precision  of  one  who  makes  a 
principle  of  calling  a  spade  a  spade.  "As 
things  are  now,  she  may  be  breaking  her  heart 
about  me,  for  all  I  know." 

"But  what  good  would  it  do  for  you  to 
know?"  Donna  asked  gravely. 

"It  concerns  me:  I  have  a  right  to  the 
knowledge.  The  biggest  courage  doesn't  hide 
things — it  shows  them.  Now,  if  Charlotte, 
for  instance,  were  absolutely  honest " 

"She  wrould  say  that  we  are  all  longing  for 
some  music,"cut  in  Charlotte,  suspecting  mis- 
chief. 

"We  are,  indeed,"  echoed  Paul  with  relief. 

"Cowards,"  muttered  Ffloyd;  but  his  laugh 
betrayed  him. 

Evelyn  went  to  the  piano  and  played  them 
all  into  harmony  and  peace.  It  was  her  most 
definite  contribution  to  their  solidarity,  for, 
though,  apart  with  Lanse,  she  was  notoriously 
fluent,  she  seldom  talked  in  the  group.  While 
the  rest  lounged  and  argued,  she  sat  slenderly 

54 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

erect,  her  chair  a  little  back  in  the  shadow, 
her  face,  delicate,  well  bred  and  inscrutable, 
turned  intently  to  each  speaker.  Sometimes, 
in  their  excited  discussions,  they  would  seem 
to  forget  that  she  was  there ;  yet,  when  she  was 
away,  they  felt  curiously  incomplete.  There 
was  a  touch  of  mystery  in  her  silent  presence; 
a  sense  of  another  world  than  theirs  of  hard 
work  and  plain  fare  lay  about  her  clothes 
and  hair,  the  very  texture  of  her  skin,  and  gave 
her  subtle  distinction. 

If  her  bearing  was  worldly,  her  playing 
"came  straight  from  heaven,"  as  Charlotte 
said.  Tonight  it  had  for  Donna  a  special  mes- 
sage. Even  while  her  practical  sense  flouted 
the  idea  of  bodily  danger,  her  literary  instinct 
played  with  images  of  death,  with  partings 
and  renunciations,  with  love  that  must  express 
itself  while  there  was  yet  time.  When  the 
evening  was  over  and  she  went  down  the  stairs 
with  Lorrimer,  she  slipped  her  arm  through 
his,  laying  her  doubled  fist  in  his  palm.  His 
fingers  closed  over  it  at  once  and  he  smiled 
down  at  her  through  his  glasses.  If  he  was 
surprised,  he  did  not  show  it. 

"So  you  like  me,  do  you?"  he  suggested. 

,"  she  said.  It  was  Paul's  word,  and 

55 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

she  used  it  with  conscious  enjoyment,  as 
though  it  were  a  little  indulgence  she  had  al- 
lowed herself. 

"How  much?"  he  went  on  in  an  amused 
voice.  But  Donna,  oppressed  by  what  might 
be  hanging  over  her,  answered  him  with  sud- 
den seriousness: 

"More  than  you  have  any  idea  of — more 
than  you  can  ever  guess."  There  was  a  tremor 
in  the  hand  he  held,  and  tragic  earnestness  in 
the  eyes  that  were  lifted  to  his.  A  startled  look 
crossed  Ffloyd's  face. 

"Is  anything  troubling  you,  Donna?"  he 
asked  with  an  effort.  The  impulse  to  tell 
him  was  strong  for  the  moment,  but  she  fought 
it  back. 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  tell  you  about  it.  Don't 
ask  me,"  she  said  wistfully. 

"I  am  so  sorry!"  He  pressed  her  arm  closer 
to  his  side,  and  they  went  on  in  silence.  He 
was  so  protective  at  crossings,  so  considerate 
and  gentle  in  manner,  that  Donna,  whose  mind 
was  all  on  last  words,  forgot  that  he  might 
not  understand,  and  let  her  love  of  life  and 
of  dear  friends  shine  out  for  a  moment 
through  her  good  night.  Taking  his  hand£ 

56 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

she  lifted  it  to  her  cheek  and  held  it 
there. 

"Dear  Lorrimerl"  she  murmured,  and  left 
him.  "Now,  if  anything  happens,  he  will  re- 
member that/'  she  said  to  herself  with  sad 
satisfaction. 

Ffloyd,  meanwhile,  stood  for  a  dazed  inter- 
val staring  at  his  hand. 

"Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  it  can't  be  that!"  he  ex- 
claimed under  his  breath  as  he  went  away.  "I 
never  dreamed  of  it.  It  can't  be!  What  shall 
I  do?" 

The  more  Ffloyd  thought  about  it,  the 
more  uneasy  he  became.  That  foolish  con- 
versation about  absolute  honesty  returned  to 
harrass  him.  It  was  not  as  if  Donna  were  a 
demonstrative  person.  Even  with  Charlotte 
he  had  seldom  seen  her  go  farther  than  a  half 
mocking  hand  clasp.  There  was  something 
new  in  her  eyes.  He  had  felt  it  when  she  had 
first  come  in  that  evening  and,  in  answer  to 
some  trivial  remark  of  greeting  he  had  made, 
her  face  had  lighted  up  with  a  glow  that  was 
not  so  far  from  tears.  It  had  troubled  and 
stirred  him  for  a  moment^  and  it  now  came 
vividly  back  to  him. 

57 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

"Donna — poor  little  Donna!  What  shall 
I  do?"  he  exclaimed. 

Lorrimer  Ffloyd  was  fond  of  stating,  with 
dry  indifference,  that  he  was  not  "successful" 
with  women.  And  it  was  true  that  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  he  had  been  roused  to  sue  for 
favor,  he  had  not  won  it.  He  was  too  abrupt, 
too  readily  scornful,  for  the  attitude  of  suitor; 
his  prickly  vanity  never  realized  that  others 
might  have  an  equal  sensitiveness.  That  love 
might  come  unsought,  and  that,  by  a  mere 
experiment  in  words,  he  had  stumbled  on  the 
Open  Sesame  to  the  secret,  was  too  fantastic 
for  sober  belief;  yet  all  night  his  hand  felt  the 
curve  of  Donna's  cool  cheek,  and  the  echo  of 
her  "Dear  Lorrimer!"  kept  him  swinging  be- 
tween elation  and  black  gloom,  for  the  next 
few  years  of  his  life  were  very  definitely 
marked  out,  and  the  plan  had  no  place  for 
ties  and  obligations.  Time  enough  for  those 
after  he  had  achieved  Paris!  He  set  himself 
grimly  to  work  in  the  morning,  with  the  doors 
to  sentiment  tightly  shut. 

His  workroom  was  a  big,  charmless  place, 
more  attic  than  studio,  baldly  clean,  furnished 
only  with  drawing  implements,  a  long  table, 
a  few  wooden  chairs  and  a  small  gas  stove. 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

His  tiny  bedroom  across  the  hall  had  the  same 
whitewashed  bareness,  though  two  of  its  walls 
were  crossed  by  a  band  of  intricate  pencil 
marks,  tangled  record  of  the  ideas  for  car- 
toons that  came  to  him  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night.  When  the  space  convenient  to  his  arm 
was  used  up,  he  moved  the  bed.  Beyond  this, 
not  one  touch  of  personality  could  be  found 
in  either  room,  or  an  object  that  was  not  the 
cheapest  of  its  kind.  Perfect  cleanness  and 
abundant  fresh  air  were  the  only  mitigations. 
This  raw  asceticism  was  not  compulsory,  for 
his  work  commanded  a  good  income;  it  was 
purely  a  part  of  his  present  theory  of  life. 
Another  year  might  find  him  lapped  in  lux- 
ury, for  Ffloyd  was  essentially  an  experi- 
menter. 

By  noon  he  had  worked  himself  into  a  state 
of  mind  as  severe  as  his  surroundings,  and 
set  about  preparing  his  lunch  with  a  dry 
smile  of  satisfaction  at  his  own  strength  of 
character.  He  had  spread  a  clean  newspaper 
across  one  end  of  the  table,  set  out  bread  and 
cheese  and  started  his  cocoa  boiling  when 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  studio  door. 

"Come  in"  he  called  inhospitably;  "if  you 

59 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

must,"  was  implied.    The  door  opened  on  a 
laugh. 

"It  sounded  more  like  'Keep  out!'"  said 
Donna.  She  had  on  the  hat  with  irises,  and 
her  face  was  lighted  with  adventure.  "May 
I  really  come  in?" 

"Why,  yes,  do."  Ffloyd  spoke  constrainedly, 
stirring  his  cocoa  as  though  there  were  not  a 
minute  to  spare.  Donna  laid  several  pack- 
ages on  the  table,  then  stood  considering 
him. 

"Absolute  honesty,  Lorrimer,"  she  began, 
"forces  me  to  mention  that  I  came  to  lunch 
with  you.  I  have  brought  a  grape-fruit  and 
some  cold  tongue  and  four  rolls — nice,  fresh 
ones" — her  voice  had  taken  on  a  mischievous 
humility,"  and  salted  peanuts.  It  is  a  very 
expensive  grape-fruit.  And  I  have  done  some 
verses  for  you,  so  you  see  I  really  had  an  ex- 
cuse for  coming.  They  are  nice  verses,  Lor- 
rimer. And  there  is  an  editor  gaping  for 
them,  so  if  you  did  care  to  do  some  pictures — 
if  you  really  wanted  to " 

The  spoon  dropped  into  the  saucepan  with 
a  clatter. 

"Oh,  stop  it!"  commanded  Ffloyd,  between 
exasperation  and  amusement.  "Get  yourself 

60 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

a  knife  and  fork  out  of  the  table  drawer,  and 
don't  be  an  utter  idiot." 

"Now  we  are  all  right,"  said  Donna  com- 
fortably, and  began  to  jerk  the  strings  from 
her  packages.  The  buoyancy  of  hidden  ex- 
citement was  in  her  movements,  for  she  had 
just  been  to  the  doctor,  and  had  divined  in  him 
a  stimulating  anxiety.  So  long  as  she  was 
convinced,  herself,  that  the  dog  had  not  been 
mad,  medical  concern  on  the  subject  was 
rather  thrilling,  and  vivified  her  secret  drama 
of  last  days.  "You  make  one  feel  so  perfectly 
at  home,  Lorrimer.  I  always  say  that  tact  is 
the — where  are  your  saucers? — is  the — I  want 
plates,  too,  please,  unless  you  prefer  news- 
paper— is  the — Lorrimer,  you  really  are  glad 
to  see  me,  aren't  you?" 

A  glint  of  the  morning's  stoicism  came  into 
his  eyes.  Two  could  play  at  this  game  of  per- 
fect honesty. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  am,"  he  said,  taking 
the  grape-fruit  away  from  her  and  preparing 
it  with  beautifully  neat,  deft  movements  of  his 
knife.  "You  destroy  the  scheme  of  my  room. 
What  is  the  use  of  making  it  bleak  and  bald 
and  austere,  if  a  warm,  colored  thing  like  you 
is  going  to  burst  in  and  upset  all  the  values?" 

61 


He  glanced  up  to  see  how  she  took  it,  and  met 
a  look  so  worried  that  his  severity  relaxed. 
When  Ffloyd  smiled,  one  remembered,  with 
surprise,  that  he  had  once  been  a  little  boy — 
perhaps  even  a  dear  and  lovable  little  boy. 
Donna  smiled  back  reassured. 

"Values — this  room!"  she  protested.  "It 
hasn't  any.  Why  will  you  live  in  such  hideous- 
ness?" 

"I  suppose  it  needs  some  dear  little  woman 
to  make  it  cosy  and  homelike?"  He  spoke 
mockingly,  but  with  a  keen  eye  on  her  and  a 
quickened  beat  in  his  heart. 

"It  needs  some  dear  little  woman  to  make 
you  move  into  a  human  habitation,"  she  re- 
turned with  spirit. 

Ffloyd  drew  up  a  chair  for  her  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table. 

"My  wife  would  have  to  live  my  way,"  he 
warned  her.  They  were  bold  words,  "my 
wife."  Donna  divined  the  thrill  beneath 
them,  and,  realizing  that  mortal  lips  might 
never  speak  them  of  her,  felt  chilled  and 
shadowed.  Dying  might  not  be  all  drama, 
after  all. 

"Ah,  I  wonder  whom  you  will  marry?"  she 
said  wistfully. 

62 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

Ffloyd  felt  that  the  brutal  truth  was  best. 
"No  one  at  all  for  the  next  few  years,"  he  said 
gently.  "I  can't,  Donna.  My  work  won't 
allow  it." 

She  welcomed  the  chance  to  give  him  good 
advice.  He  would  remember  it  if — 

"Don't  put  it  off  too  long,  Lorrimer,"  she 
said,  leaning  towards  him  in  her  earnestness. 
"You  need  it — more  than  most  men,  I  think. 
You  could  easily  grow  rather — callous.  You 
force  yourself  to  be  cold,  just  because  you  are 
so  tender  hearted,  and  you  hate  to  be  hurt. 
But  it  is  better  to  be  hurt,  my  dear — oh,  to  be 
hurt  with  knives! — than  to  shut  yourself  away. 
I  know." 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  her  voice  told 
him  that  her  eyes  were  misty.  He  was  being 
hurt  at  that  moment,  even  with  knives,  and 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  get  away. 

"So  you  recommend  marriage  because  it  is 
painful?"  he  scoffed. 

"Love  hurts,  but  what  if  it  does?"  she  re- 
turned gravely.  "There  is  nothing  else,  Lor- 
rimer; nothing  else  on  earth,  except  work. 
And  that  comes  second." 

"I  wonderl"  He  pushed  back  his  chair 
with  a  sudden  thrust  of  his  arms  and  started 

63 


to  his  feet.  "I  haven't  renounced  because  I 
wanted  to,  I  can  tell  you.  It  seemed  to  me 
the  only  way.  I  have  got  to  succeed,  Donna, 
I've  got  to  go  far.  I  would  crawl  over  red- 
hot  ploughshares  to  get  where  I  want  to  be! 
And  yet,  if  I  am  paying  the  wrong  price — " 
he  paused  at  the  back  of  her  chair,  an  excited 
laugh  in  his  voice:  "Are  you  the  higher  wis- 
dom, or  are  you  Eve,  the  temptress?" 

"I  am  only  your  best  friend,"  she  said  with 
a  sobriety  that  checked  him,  bringing  him 
back  to  his  seat  with  a  shrug  and  a  laugh. 

"Thank  you,  best  friend.  I  will  think  it 
over,"  he  assured  her.  "Have  some  bread  and 
cheese?  By  the  way,  where  is  the  poetry?" 

She  took  out  a  typewritten  sheet  from  the 
front  of  her  blouse,  which  carried  her  works 
so  often  that  Ffloyd  had  likened  it  to  the 
kangaroo's  pouch  for  her  young.  The  long 
habit  of  working  together  brought  them  back 
to  their  normal  relation  of  cheerful  intimacy, 
frank  criticism  and  ready  laughter.  Before 
their  meal  was  over,  he  had  begun  to  sketch 
the  illustrations;  and  Donna  cleared  the  table, 
that  he  might  go  immediately  to  work.  He 
would  not  allow  her  to  wash  the  dishes. 

"You  would  not  do  it  properly,"  he  asserted, 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

bent  down  over  his  work,  his  near-sighted  eyes 
close  to  the  paper.  "You  never  can  do  my 
dishes,  Donna,  until  you  have  a  higher  stand- 
ard about  the  bottoms  of  glasses  and  the  sides 
of  dishpans." 

"Old  maid!  Do  them  yourself,  then." 
And  she  went  off  indignant,  which  was  not  at 
all  in  accordance  with  the  literary  laws  of 
partings  that  may  prove  final.  When  her  step 
had  died  away,  Ffloyd  dropped  his  pencil  and 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  his  head  resting  on 
clasped  hands,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling, 
smiling  deeply  to  himself. 

The  bright  face  of  danger  is  apt  to  become 
clouded  by  night,  especially  if  one  lives  alone, 
and  has  a  vivid  imagination.  It  came  to 
Donna  that  evening  that  she  had  been  a  fool 
to  resist  her  doctor,  to  run  even  the  least 
chance  of  losing  her  full  measure  of  life.  The 
thought  did  not  come  after  the  gradual  man- 
ner of  reasoned  conclusions,  but  suddenly, 
with  no  warning,  like  a  dreadful  message  from 
without.  A  death's  head,  springing  at  her 
from  the  pages  of  her  book,  could  not  have 
brought  a  sharper  recoil,  or  left  her  paler. 
Death  was  real  and  awful — good,  warm,  sweet 
life  was  all  she  knew,  all  she  dared  know  yet. 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

The  faces  of  her  friends,  sketched  or  photo- 
graphed, turned  to  her  from  the  walls  with 
something  pitying  in  their  immoveable  re- 
gard; the  very  walls  of  this,  her  home,  looked 
sentient  in  their  dear  familiarity.  She  pressed 
her  cheeks  and  her  outstretched  arms  against 
them. 

"My  own  little  home,"  she  whispered.  The 
place  was  mother  as  well  as  home  to  her.  And 
she  had  earned  it,  every  inch,  sitting-room  to 
the  sun,  cool,  white  bedroom,  tiled  bath,  and 
absurd  little  kitchen:  out  of  her  own  talent 
and  labor  had  come  her  right  to  live  like  this. 
It  stood  for  success,  and  success  meant  long 
life;  successful,  happy  people  did  not  die 
young. 

"Oh,  don't  they?"  seemed  to  come  mocking- 
ly from  Ffloyd's  caricature  of  himself  over 
her  desk. 

"Yes,  they  do,"  she  cried,  huddling  down  on 
the  floor  with  her  head  against  the  couch. 

Quite  unconsciously,  she  had  taken  the 
position  that  she  usually  squirmed  into 
when  the  fervor  of  literary  composi- 
tion was  highest;  and  perhaps  it  was  this 
that  by  association  presently  brought  her 
healing  craft  to  her  rescue.  The  glow  of 

66 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

creation  began  to  spread  through  her  droop- 
ing body;  her  head  lifted,  her  eyes  took  on  a 
starry  fixity.  With  a  fumbling  hand  she 
reached  for  pad  and  pencil,  and  sat  brooding 
over  them,  breathless  and  utterly  happy.  She 
had  conceived  a  wonderful  set  of  letters,  her 
good-by  letters  to  the  beloved  six.  They 
should  not  be  sentimental  nor  self-indulgent, 
nor  should  they  harrow,  as  last  letters  usually 
feel  privileged  to  do.  A  fine  restraint  was  to 
be  the  keynote.  Restraint,  gayety,  deep  affec- 
tion ;  above  all,  a  pleasant  naturalness,  the  tone 
of  every  day  intercourse :  they  must  not  hurt. 
The  beauty  of  this  resolution  set  tears  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks.  Soon  living  sentences 
began  to  shape  themselves,  to  Paul,  to  Char' 
lotte,  to  Ffloyd.  She  noted  them  down  as 
they  came,  then,  taking  a  fresh  sheet,  she  be- 
gan: 

"My  dearest  Lorrimer." 

The  letter  streamed  from  her  pencil,  the 
warmest,  bravest  letter  ever  written  by  friend 
to  friend.  She  sobbed  over  it,  and  did  not 
even  take  time  to  dry  her  eyes.  It  was  a  let- 
ter to  comfort  and  sustain  and  cheer — and  to 
break  the  heart  by  its  very  absence  of  self  pity. 
There  came  a  day  when  Ffloyd  did  read  it — 

67 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

with  Donna  chuckling  opposite  him;  and  was 
brought  so  low  that  it  took  a  week  to  cheer 
him  again.  But  at  the  time  she  had  no  least 
suspicion  that  she  should  ever  find  in  it  cause 
for  smiling.  She  had  gone  flying  down  a 
second  big  sheet  when  a  ring  at  her  doorbell 
rent  the  chrysalis  of  dream  that  she  had  spun 
round  herself  and  tipped  her  out,  tear-stained 
and  dishevelled,  into  awkward  actuality. 

She  thought  at  first  that  she  would  not  an- 
swer it.  Then  she  remembered  that  a  pack- 
age was  due,  and  hastily  rubbed  her  face, 
turning  out  the  light  in  the  entry  before  she 
opened  the  door. 

"Paul!"  She  stood  wavering  between  dis- 
may at  her  plight  and  the  joy  of  seeing  him, 
the  doorknob  inhospitably  clutched.  It  was 
useless  to  hope  that  anything  whatever  would 
escape  Paul's  notice;  already  there  was  a  re- 
flected distress  in  his  eyes  as  he  stood  smiling, 
bent  a  little  forward,  one  hand  against  the 
doorpost,  eager  to  pretend  obliviousness  if 
that  would  make  it  easier  for  her. 

"I  only  stopped  to  say  hello,  Donna;  per- 
haps you  are  busy,"  he  said,  and  drew  back  to 
show  how  simply  she  might  be  rid  of  him. 
A  no!     Come  in."     She  threw  the  door 
68 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

wide,  with  a  laugh  at  herself.  "I  have  been 
howling,  but  don't  mind — it  is  all  over.  Go 
in  and  wait  while  I  tidy  up." 

''Poor  dear!"  He  took  her  hand  between 
his,  then  passed  on  obediently  into  the  sitting- 
room.  "Do  you  want  to  tell  me  about  it?" 

She  answered  cheerfully  from  her  room. 
"Of  course.  My  new  blouse  has  not  come 
home,  and  it  was  promised  on  their  honor. 
Wouldn't  that  make  anyone  howl?" 

"Rather!     I  should—" 

Donna  had  gone  to  wash  her  face,  and  did 
not  notice  that  Paul's  voice  had  stopped  short. 
Crossing  the  room,  he  had  stooped  to  pick  up 
a  sheet  of  impetuous  writing  that  lay  on  the 
floor,  and  had  been  struck  silent  by  its  salient 
heading.  "My  dearest  Lorrimer!"  The 
words,  written  coolly  in  ink,  might  have  meant 
no  more  than  close  friendship.  But  the  sweep 
of  this  would  have  proclaimed  emotion,  even 
without  the  marks  of  tears  on  the  paper;  and, 
read  by  the  light  of  Donna's  tragic  eyes,  it 
told  of  secret  storm  and  suffering.  Paul  thrust 
the  sheet  into  the  pad  on  the  couch  and  went 
as  far  from  it  as  possible,  perturbed  and  be- 
wildered. That,  with  all  their  closeness,  they 
should  know  so  little  of  each  other's  inner 

69 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

lives,  was  his  first  wonder — quickly  forgotten 
in  poignant  sympathy  for  brave,  gay  Donna 
and  a  prickling  irritation  against  Lorrimer 
Ffloyd.  It  was  not  fair  to  hurt  Donna! 

"I  wanted  to  wear  that  blouse  to-morrow," 
she  said,  coming  in.  "It  is  a  perfect  love, 
Paul." 

He  took  her  tone,  grateful  for  the  decency 
of  her  reserve,  but  poured  out  upon  her,  in 
look  and  voice,  the  pitying  warmth  of  his  sym- 
pathy; and  Donna,  wholly  cheered  and  buoy- 
ant in  the  reaction,  did  not  dream  what  a 
pathetically  brave  figure  she  appeared  with 
her  ready  laughter  and  her  heavy  eyelids. 
She  only  knew  that  Paul  was  more  "dear" 
even  than  usual;  and  that  if  at  the  end  of 
things  she  should  be  allowed  one  mighty 
boast,  it  would  be,  "Paul  found  me  worth 
while!" 

"You  have  done  me  good,"  she  said  when 
he  rose  to  go.  "I  don't  care  anything  about 
the  blouse,  now.  You  were  good  to  come, 
Paul." 

"I  am  right  there,  Donna,  if  you  want  me," 
he  said,  and  went  home  wrung  by  the  bravery 
of  her  unclouded  good  night. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  awakened  by  a 
70 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

knock  on  his  studio  door.  He  stumbled  across 
in  the  dark  and  opened  it,  to  find  Ffloyd  pant- 
ing outside. 

"Elevator  wasn't  running,  and  I — walked 
up  all  eight  flights — without  stopping,"  he  ex- 
plained. "Paul,  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  and 
you've  got  to  help  me." 

Paul  turned  up  the  light,  wrapped  himself 
in  a  dressing-gown  and  lit  a  cigarette.  His 
silence  had  a  touch  of  austerity,  but  Ffloyd  was 
too  troubled  to  notice  or  care. 

"It  is  this  everlasting  business  of  marriage," 
he  burst  out.  "We  have  settled  it  a  hundred 
times — that  an  artist  can't  marry  until  he  has 
passed  a  certain  point,  that  it  is  death  to — for 
God's  sake,  give  me  a  new  argument  against  it. 
I  have  gone  over  and  over  the  old  ones  until 
they  are  so  much  words." 

Paul  eyed  him  inscrutably  as  he  stumbled 
near-sightedly  about  the  room. 

"Are  you  in  love?"  he  asked  finally.  The 
question  seemed  to  startle  Ffloyd;  he  came 
to  a  halt,  settling  slowly  down  on  the  arm  of 
a  chair. 

"Why,  I  don't  know."  He  pondered  over 
it  for  several  minutes.  "One  wants  to  marry, 
of  course.  And  when  it  is  about  the  nicest 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

girl  in  the  world —  The  situation  is  new  to 
me,"  he  added  with  the  precise  enunciation 
that  he  reserved  for  naming  spades.  "Now, 
you  are  used  to  having  women  fall  in  love  with 
you,  so  probably  you  don't  find  it  so  disturb- 
ing." 

Paul  frowned.  "I  don't  see  how  I  can  help 
you,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Also,  it  is  quite  possible  that  I  have  mis- 
understood," Ffloyd  went  on,  too  troubled  to 
resent  his  impatience.  "But,  supposing  it 
true — man,  say  something.  Try  to  save  me." 

"Do  you  really  wrant  to  be  saved?" 

"I  don't  know,  I  tell  you." 

"Then  go  back  to  your  work  till  you  do 
know — that  is  my  advice." 

"Work!  How  can  I  work  with — "  He 
sighed  and  rose  to  leave.  "I  hoped  you  would 
have  advised  me  to  go  ahead.  Then  I  might 
have  proved  to  us  both  how  impossible  it 
was."  At  the  door  he  turned  back.  "Of 
course  you  won't  say  anything — " 

"Oh,  yes;  I  shall  put  it  in  the  morning 
papers,"  Paul  said.  When  Ffloyd  had  gone 
he  finished  his  cigarette,  staring  up  at  the 
light.  Then  he  rose  with  a  stretch  and  a  sigh, 

73 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

"That  poor  little  girl,"  he  said  half  aloud.  "I 
wish  Ffloyd  were  more — oh,  well  I" 

Donna's  little  kitchen  was  used  only  when 
she  felt  domestic,  or  tired  of  the  cafe  down- 
stairs. On  Saturdays  she  was  very  apt  to  "re- 
vert to  femininity,"  as  she  called  it,  and  spend 
happy  hours  over  the  stove,  the  cook  book  on 
the  table  held  open  with  a  salt  shaker,  and 
every  dish,  fork  and  spoon  in  the  place  in 
some  way  becoming  involved  in  her  opera- 
tions. She  was  too  spent  with  past  emotion, 
the  next  day,  to  attempt  lunch,  but  by  mid- 
afternoon  the  cook  book  began  to  assert  its 
charm,  and,  after  a  brief  resistance,  she  set  out 
to  buy  materials.  She  had  not  passed  the 
scene  of  her  accident  since  it  happened,  and 
she  looked  about  the  fatal  corner  with  remi- 
niscent interest.  A  boy  stood  in  the  door  of 
the  grocery,  the  very  boy  of  interminable  red 
wrists  who  had  owned  the  dog,  and  had  been 
declared  discharged.  Donna,  bent  on  investi- 
gating, went  in. 

"I  though  you  were  not  here  now,"  she  said 
pleasantly,  after  buying  some  fruit.  The  boy, 
evidently  not  recognizing  her,  explained  that 
he  had  merely  been  "off"  for  a  week.  "What 
has  become  of  your  dog?"  she  went  on.  He 

73 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

glanced  quickly  at  her,  then  looked  off  in 
embarrassment. 

"Oh,  that  dog  ain't  here  any  more  now,"  he 
answered. 

"I  heard  that  he  had  bitten  a  lady,"  she 
spoke  quite  impersonally.  "A  dog  like  that 
ought  to  be  shot." 

"Yes'm,  he  was  shot,"  said  the  boy  un- 
easily. "He  never  bit  no  one  before.  He 
wasn't  a  cross  dog. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  he  did  it?  Was  he — 
mad?" 

"Yes'm,  that  was  it.     He  was  mad." 

Donna  felt  a  deadly  numbness  of  brain  and 
limb.  Outwardly,  she  took  her  fruit  and 
waited  for  her  change,  then  went  home  to  her 
apartment  and  put  her  things  away  just  as 
usual ;  but  her  inner  self  was  quite  unconscious 
of  all  this.  She  only  realized  that  what  she 
had  taken  for  a  pleasurably  alarming  little 
drama  had  suddenly  turned  into  dreadful 
reality.  All  the  glamour  and  excitement  were 
gone.  Even  the  literary  imagination  fails  of 
comfort  when  the  alternatives  are  insanity  or  a 
horrible  death.  She  called  up  her  doctor,  but 
he  was  out,  so  she  left  an  urgent  message  for 
him;  then  lay  on  her  couch  without  stirring, 

74 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

her  arms  across  her  face,  until  the  afternoon 
was  gone  and  the  room  was  dark.  At  last  with 
a  long  breath  she  pulled  herself  up. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  I'll  have  the  grace  to 
keep  it  to  myself,"  she  said  aloud,  pushing 
back  her  hair  and  resting  her  hot  forehead  in 
her  hands.  She  lit  the  lights  and  began  to 
straighten  herself,  looking  curiously  at  her 
flushed  face  in  the  mirror.  When  she  turned 
to  her  washstand,  a  little  bottle  on  the  shelf 
above  caught  her  eye  with  its  skull  and  cross- 
bones.  It  was  some  laudanum  she  had  had 
for  an  aching  tooth.  She  took  it  down  and 
looked  at  it  intently. 

"If  it  doesn't  come  on  too  fast — "  she  said. 

And  then,  all  at  once,  she  was  afraid,  afraid 
as  she  had  never  been  before  in  her  life ;  afraid 
of  the  blackness  of  the  closet,  of  the  silent  room 
with  its  watching  mirror,  of  the  little  bottle 
with  the  staring  label.  With  shaking  hands  she 
pinned  on  her  hat  and,  catching  up  her  coat, 
ran  from  the  horrors  that  had  taken  up  their 
abode  there. 

Paul  was  lying  back  in  a  deep  chair  read- 
ing somewhat  sleepily,  and  called  an  absent 
"Come!"  to  the  knock  on  his  door.  When 
Donna  entered,  pale  and  unusual  looking,  he 

75 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

stared  at  her,  too  surprised  to  move.  She 
went  straight  to  him  and,  dropping  on  her 
knees  by  his  chair,  took  his  arm  in  both  her 
hands. 

"Paul,  if  you  had  been  out,  I  think  I  should 
have  died,"  she  said,  and,  burying  her  face 
against  his  sleeve,  she  began  to  cry.  He 
rubbed  her  shoulder  gently  with  his  other 
hand. 

"Poor  girl!"  he  whispered;  "poor  little 
Donna!"  After  a  moment  she  pulled  herself 
up  resolutely. 

"There.  I'm  all — right,"  she  said  broken- 
ly. "I  had  an  attack  of  the  horrors.  7 
couldn't  stand  being  alone  another  minute." 

Paul  thought  he  understood. 

"I  know,"  he  said;  "and  you're  bothered. 
Do  you  want  to  tell  me  about  it?" 

She  turned  away  from  the  temptation  and 
shook  her  head.  "I'll  have  the  grace  to  bear 
it  alone,"  she  said  to  herself. 

He  put  her  in  the  big  chair,  brought  a  rug 
and  cushions,  and  shaded  the  lamp  from  her 
with  a  newspaper.  She  watched  him  with 
grateful  eyes,  immeasurably  comforted. 

"If  my  dying  could  do  Paul  any  good,  I 
wouldn't  mind  it/'  she  thought,  burying  her 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

face  against  an  Indian  red  cushion,  pleasantly 
suggestive  of  tobacco.  ''There's  a  poem  in 
that  somewhere,"  she  added;  for  the  literary 
habit  is  strong  even  in  extremis. 

Paul  put  a  cushion  under  her  feet,  then 
stood  smiling  down  on  her. 

"This  would  make  a  good  scene  for  'Alfa- 
retta,  the  Little  Slave  Girl,'  "  he  suggested. 
"Out  of  the  Storm;  the  White  Face  against 
the  Window — " 

"Eight  stories  up,"  commented  Donna. 
"Think  what  a  neck  she'd  have  to  have !"  They 
both  laughed. 

"The  villain  is  close  upon  her  track,"  Paul 
went  on.  "There  is  barely  time  to  conceal 
her  before  a  loud  knock — " 

Knuckles  on  the  studio  door  at  that  instant 
made  them  both  jump.  Before  they  could 
collect  their  wits,  Ffloyd  walked  in. 

"Say,  Paul — "  he  began  impetuously,  then, 
seeing  Donna,  stopped  short,  the  color  rushing 
into  his  face.  Both  men  were  so  plainly  dis- 
concerted that  Donna  felt  suddenly  uncom- 
fortable and  out  of  place. 

"I  had  the  blues  and  Paul  had  been  cheer- 
ing me  up,"  she  explained  awkwardly.  "I 
was  just  going." 

77 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Oh,  it's  early,"  Paul  said  rather  mechan- 
ically. 

"I  must,"  she  insisted,  struggling  to  her  feet. 
She  saw  the  two  exchange  glances  full  of  some 
meaning  she  could  not  divine,  and  wondered 
uncomfortably  what  plans  her  presence  had 
upset. 

"Donna,  I  want  to  walk  home  with  you," 
said  Ffloyd,  with  the  solemnity  of  one  who 
had  just  formed  a  high  purpose. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  necessary.  It  is  early  yet. 
Really,  Lorrimer,  I  don't  want  you,"  she  pro- 
tested, and  looked  appealingly  at  Paul,  but  he 
would  not  meet  her  eyes. 

"Please  let  me.  I  want  to,"  Ffloyd  repeated 
even  more  gravely. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  helplessly.  "Good 
night,  Paul.  Thank  you." 

"Good  night,"  he  said,  and  held  her  hand 
warmly  for  a  moment  with  a  smile  of  encour- 
agement that  puzzled  and  hurt  her. 

"I  might  have  had  just  this  one  evening 
with  him,"  she  thought  rebelliously.  "But 
he  didn't  even  try  to  keep  me.  Oh,  I  wish 
Lorrimer  Ffloyd  were  in  Jericho!" 

Ffloyd,  meanwhile,  was  helping  her  in  and 
out  of  the  elevator  and  opening  swing  doors 

78 


DONNA'S   LAST  WEEK 

for  her  in  a  way  that  would  have  amazed  her 
if  she  had  not  been  too  troubled  to  notice  it. 
He  usually  left  her  to  perform  these  minor 
services  for  herself,  but  to-night  he  felt 
strangely  protective.  The  traces  of  tears  on 
her  face  and  her  evident  confusion  at  seeing 
him  had  touched  him  deeply.  Donna  cer- 
tainly was  a  dear  girl.  He  drew  her  arm 
through  his  and  closed  his  fingers  over  her 
hand,  and  Donna,  suddenly  ashamed  of  her 
resentment,  and  remembering  only  the  years 
of  warm  friendship  between  them,  met  the 
advance  cordially. 

"I  had  a  bad  day,  too,"  he  said.  "How's 
it  all  going  to  come  out,  little  girl?" 

"O  Lorrimer^  I  don't  know!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  bear  it 
much  longer,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"I  don't  believe  you'll  have  to,  my  dear,"  he 
said  with  deep  meaning.  "Only,  one  has  to 
be  very  sure,  doesn't  one?  Is  there  anything 
to  do  but — wait  a  little?" 

"I  must  have  told  more  than  I  realized," 
she  said  with  a  faint  smile.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
bother  any  one  with  it.  But  it's  the  waiting 
that's  killing  me.  If  I— oh!"  She  broke  off. 

79 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

with  a  cry  of  fright  and  shrank  up  against 
Ffloyd,  clinging  to  his  arm. 

"What  is  it?"  he  exclaimed. 

He  saw  nothing  but  a  brown  and  white  dog 
sniffing  at  the  lamp-post. 

"That's  the  dog!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  I  am 
afraid!" 

A  boy  came  up  at  that  moment  and  whistled 
sharply  to  the  dog.  Donna  turned  to  him  ex- 
citedly. 

"Take  hold  of  him— hold  him  tight,"  she 
implored.  "That's  the  dog  that  bit  me — and 
you  are  the  boy  who  said  he  had  been  shot!" 
She  released  the  startled  Ffloyd  as  the  dog  set- 
tled down  in  evident  amity,  sweeping  the 
pavement  with  his  tail.  "What  did  you 
mean?"  she  asked  sternly. 

"But  he  ain't  a  cross  dog,"  the  boy  said  un- 
happily. "We  keep  him  in  the  back  yard  all 
the  time  now,  and  he  never  bit  no  one  before, 
didger,  Petey?"  The  dog  beamed  and 
flourished  his  tail  harder  than  ever. 

"But  you  said  he  was  mad,"  Donna  insisted. 

"  Yes'm,  that  was  all.  You  hit  his  bone  with 
your  foot  and  he  was  awful  hungry,  so  he  just 
bit  before  he  thought.  Any  dog  would  get 
mad  if  you  hit  his  bone  away." 

80 


DONNA'S  LAST  WEEK 

"Oh !"  said  Donna.  A  whole  world  of  dread 
and  misery  seemed  to  roll  away  with  that  long 
breath. 

"Donna,  what  does  this  mean?"  demanded 
Ffloyd  for  the  third  time. 

"Father  says  if  you  complain  or  anything, 
he'll  have  Petey  killed,"  the  boy  went  on,  rub- 
bing the  stubby  head  that  was  nosing  his  leg. 
"We — we've  had  him  five  years,  since  he  was 
a  little  puppy."  The  dog  rose  and  began  to 
paw  his  jacket,  making  long  passes  with  his 
tongue  at  the  troubled  face  above.  "Can  you 
resist  that?"  the  boy's  eyes  said  plainly.  And 
Donna  could  not. 

"Well,  keep  him  out  of  mischief,"  she  said. 
"Good  night."  She  turned  happily  to  Ffloyd 
as  they  went  on. 

"Wasn't  it  funny?"  she  laughed.  "He  used 
'mad'  in  the  vernacular  and  I  in  the  literal, 
and  out  of  that  I've  had  hours  of  pitch  black 
horror.  Oh,  I'm  so  hungry!  I  had  no  din- 
ner. Have  you  any  money?" 

Over  a  supper  table  she  told  him  all  about 
the  past  week.  He  took  it  very  soberly.  "And 
that  was  all  that  was  troubling  you?"  he  asked 
finally. 

"Well,  surely  it  was  enough!"  she  ex- 
Si 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

claimed.  "But  I  shan't  worry  any  more.  Of 
course  it  is  all  right  now." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  he  assented^  staring  dis- 
mally at  his  plate. 

"Well,  you  seem  disappointed,"  she  pro- 
tested. Then  she  laughed.  "O  Lorrimer, 
think  what  copy  I  have  stored  up!  I've 
learned  a  great  deal  about  human  emotions." 

"Yes;  I  think  I've  learned  a  little  some- 
thing, too,"  he  said  with  a  long  sigh, 


82 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LORRIMER  BECOMES  A  FAD. 

A  CARICATURE  of  a  certain  celebrity, 
bearing  the  now  expensive  signature  of 
Lorrimer  Ffloyd,  led  to  unforeseen  conse- 
quences. The  Celebrity  shook  with  laughter 
over  the  picture,  not  because  it  is  proper  to 
laugh  when  one  is  caricatured,  but  because  it 
struck  him  as  being  intensely  funny.  He 
awoke  in  the  night  to  laugh  at  it,  and  in  the 
morning  he  showed  it  to  his  daughter.  Miss 
Celebrity,  who  was  a  personage,  was  at  that 
particular  moment  tired  of  all  the  men  she 
knew,  and  much  in  need  of  a  new  sensation. 
Consequently,  a  week  later  Ffloyd  was  sitting 
on  the  other  side  of  her  tea  table  at  five  in  the 
afternoon,  and  she  was  not  at  home  to  any  one 
else. 

At  first  he  was  difficult,  very  close  to  rude; 
for  the  footmen  had  unnerved  him,  and  he 
resented  this  weakness  so  bitterly  that  some  one 
must  be  punished  for  it  at  once.  But  Miss 

83 


THE   TOP  OF  THE    MORNING 

Celebrity  knew  her  business.  She  handled 
him  as  deftly  as  she  did  the  tea  urn,  and  by  the 
time  the  water  came  to  a  boil  he  had  yielded 
up  his  resentment  and  was  doing  exactly  what 
she  wished.  When  he  left,  an  hour  later, 
there  was  a  pencil  caricature  of  himself  on  the 
linen  tray  cloth,  and  a  stinging  excitement  in 
his  veins  that  carried  him  past  the  footmen  as 
if  they  had  been  plaster  casts. 

"So  she  finds  her  life  monotonous,  does 
she?"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  triumphant 
laugh.  "Well,  I'll  see  that  she  gets  a  sensa- 
tion or  two  before  we  finish!" 

Miss  Celebrity,  meanwhile,  was  smiling 
somewhat  obscurely  to  herself  in  the  tiny  ele- 
vator that  was  carrying  her  to  her  own  part 
of  the  house. 

uHe  will  do,"  she  concluded;  "yes,  he  will 
do  very  well — at  any  rate,  until  Gerard  comes 
back." 

The  others  first  knew  of  this  adventure  into 
new  worlds  at  one  of  Charlotte's  suppers  soon 
after,  when  Ffloyd  appeared  in  frock  coat  and 
a  top  hat,  and  all  the  hither  despised  trappings 
of  a  Fifth  Avenue  Sunday.  There  was  a 
chorus  of  amazement. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  Charlotte  finally 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

demanded,  while  Cameron  circled  around  him 
in  pantomimic  admiration. 

"Why,  I  have  simply  been  calling.  Is  there 
anything  so  outlandish  in  my  appearance?" 
Ffloyd  spoke  impatiently.  Their  somewhat 
noisy  excitement  irritated  him.  They  might 
at  least  behave  as  if  they  were  used  to  well 
bred  surroundings. 

"Those  are  not  such  clothes  as  toast  is  made 
in,"  Donna  said  gravely.  "Charlotte,  I'll  do 
it — though  it  isn't  my  turn."  And  she  lit  the 
gas  stove,  chanting  in  friendly  derision: 

"Oh,  I  love  society,  high  society,  real  society!" 

That  frock  coat  dominated  the  whole  eve- 
ning. And  yet  they  were  used  to  elaborate 
toilets  on  the  part  of  Lanse,  accepting  them  as 
a  matter  of  course.  Perhaps  the  fact  that 
Lanse  himself  was  used  to  them  made  the  dif- 
ference. Ffloyd  was  in  an  unnatural  state, 
mentally  as  well  as  bodily.  The  tea  table  he 
had  just  left  had  spoiled  his  appetite  in  more 
ways  than  one,  for  the  glamour  of  Miss  Celeb- 
rity's presence  and  surroundings  had  affected 
him  like  first  wine,  and  the  reaction  now  left 
him  cold  and  bitter,  with  raw  nerves. 

85 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Well,  are  we  going  to  hear  about  it?" 
Charlotte  insisted  as  she  began  to  serve  things. 

"Why,  there's  nothing  to  hear,"  he  answered 
with  an  effort.  "I  did  a  picture  of  a  man, 
and  got  acquainted  with  his  daughter.  She  is 
rather  worth  while."  And  he  mentioned  the 
great  name  casually,  as  if  it  were  a  mere  Smith 
or  Brown — a  violation  of  his  real  attitude  that 
was  contrary  to  all  the  codes  of  Us. 

"And  to  think,"  said  Donna  in  mock  awe, 
"that  he  was  once  just  Thomas  L.  Floyd,  of 
Metuchen!  Floyd  with  one  f,  too!  Oh,  if 
she  ever  finds  it  out!" 

"Suppose  we  write  her  an  anonymous  let- 
ter," suggested  Lanse. 

But  Ffloyd  declined  to  be  amused,  declined 
to  eat,  declined  to  talk  except  in  an  abstract, 
distant  way.  When  they  laughed  out,  his  con- 
trolled smile  made  them  feel  boisterous.  Char- 
lotte, telling  a  story  with  the  whole  souled 
abandon  that  was  so  potent  a  charm  in 
her,  telling  it  with  wonderful  mimicry,  so  that 
the  scene  and  characters  were  vividly  present, 
was  suddenly  smitten  in  the  midst  of  it  with 
the  consciousness  that  she  was  thirty-five,  the 
mother  of  a  nearly  grown  son,  and  perhaps — 
It  was  the  first  time  such  a  thought  had  ever 

86 


occurred  to  her,  and  though  she  was  too  young 
and  alive  for  it  to  last  more  than  a  moment,  it 
spoiled  her  story  and  left  a  little  mark  be- 
tween her  eyebrows. 

When  the  others  had  gone,  rather  earlier 
than  usual,  she  turned  to  Paul,  who  always 
lingered. 

"What  was  the  matter?  Why  was  it  all  so 
horrid?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  it's  just  that  Ffloyd  is  drunk,"  he  an- 
swered. "He  will  come  through  it  all  right 
— it  had  to  happen,  sooner  or  later.  It's  the 
final  step  of  his  education." 

The  irritation  smoothed  out  of  her  face,  and 
she  looked  at  him  affectionately. 

"Paul,  you  are  the  wisest  person  in  the 
whole  world,"  she  said  seriously. 

"Don't,"  he  protested.  "If  I  were  that,  I'd 
go  home ;  and  I  want  to  stay." 

The  next  Sunday  night  Ffloyd  did  not  come, 
but  sent  an  apologetic  note  explaining  that  it 
was  a  dinner,  and  that  as  people  were  asked  to 
meet  him,  he  could  not  very  well  cut  it.  The 
Sunday  after  he  arrived  late,  but  in  hilarious 
spirits,  and  kept  things  going  at  a  half  hysteri- 
cal pitch  that  left  them  all  exhausted.  Then 
for  three  weeks  he  was  not  seen  or  heard  of, 

87 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

At  the  end  of  that  time  he  dropped  into 
Donna's  apartment  late  one  afternoon.  He 
looked  intangibly  changed.  It  took  her  some 
minutes  to  make  out  the  differences — the  hair 
a  couple  of  inches  longer  than  normal,  the  ec- 
centric waistcoat,  the  bursting  carnation  up- 
side down  in  his  buttonhole,  the  elaborate 
scarf  apparently  held  in  place  by  a  shingle 
nail. 

"How  is  the  lady?"  she  asked  with  friendly 
directness.  Ffloyd  smiled  to  himself  as  one 
having  remarkable  memories. 

"She  likes  your  verses,  Donna,"  he  said.  "I 
gave  her  our  animal  book,  and  she  wanted  to 
know  about  you." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  flattered  at  this 
announcement,  it  was  given  in  such  calm  cer- 
tainty of  its  importance.  Donna's  gratifica- 
tion lasted  several  seconds,  before  her  sense  of 
humor  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"And  what  did  you  tell  her?"  she  asked. 

"That  you  were  young,  beautiful,  and  ac- 
complished; intensely  clever,  yet  intensely 
feminine;  one  of  the  nicest  girls  I  ever  knew, 
to  work  with  or  to  play  with." 

Donna  smiled  a  little  wickedly. 

"Well;  and  did  it  work?    Was  she  jealous  ?" 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

she  suggested.     He  gave  her  a  shrewd  glance. 

"You  are  too  clever  for  your  own  good,"  he 
admitted  with  a  laugh.  "It's  an  awfully  in- 
teresting game,"  he  went  on  confidentially. 
''They  can't  understand  a  man's  daring  to  be 
himself,  to  follow  his  impulses  even  if  they  are 
fantastic."  He  straightened  the  shingle  nail 
in  his  scarf.  "Of  course  she's  the  only  one 
that  is  really  worth  while.  The  rest  haven't  got 
brains  and  understanding,  as  she  has;  but  it's 
good  fun  all  round,  just  to  see  their  excite- 
ment. They  say  things  are  'Ffloydy'  now, 
when  they're  odd.  Isn't  it  queer  that  society 
is  so  easy?" 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Donna  a  little  short- 
ly. Ffloyd  was  not  used  to  disapproval  in  his 
new  role,  and  resented  her  lack  of  sympathy. 
There  were  others  to  appreciate  him,  if  she 
did  not.  He  rose  soon  after,  and  she  made  no 
effort  to  keep  him,  though  she  gave  him  a 
troubled  look  as  she  said  good  by. 

"Donna  takes  things  too  seriously,"  he  said 
to  himself  with  a  shrug.  "It's  tiresome  to  be 
always  on  a  high  plane."  Nevertheless,  his 
hand  went  up  once  or  twice  to  his  buttonhole, 
where  the  bursting  carnation  was  hung  head 
down.  He  walked  along  somewhat  moodilvj 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

not  noticing  what  went  on  about  him  until  his 
name  spoken  between  two  laughs  brought  him 
back  with  a  start.  A  victoria  holding  two 
women  had  drawn  up  beside  the  curb,  and 
from  its  puffy  blue  cushions  Miss  Celebrity 
was  summoning  him  in  that  odd  little  hot- 
house voice  of  hers  that  made  all  others  sound 
untrained  and  offensively  hearty.  Ffloyd  took 
off  his  hat  with  a  movement  he  had  invented 
especially  for  her,  and  had  named  the 
"Gladys." 

"I  give  other  people  the  'Miss  Johnson,'  or 
the  'Miss  de  Vere'  or  the  'Hello,  Edy,'  "  he 
had  explained;  "but  the  'Gladys'  is  just  espe- 
cially for  you — a  refined  blending  of  respect 
and  intimacy." 

"You  are  a  most  adorable  little  lunatic," 
she  had  replied  tolerantly. 

"We  wish  to  be  seen  speaking  to  you,"  she 
now  explained. 

"To  prove  you  aren't  exclusive?"  Ffloyd 
asked,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  broad  wheel 
guard.  The  other  girl  gave  a  laugh  of  pro- 
test. "If  you  want  to  be  amused,"  he  went  on, 
"you've  got  the  wrong  number.  I  was  just 
deciding  to  give  up  my  career  as  a  social  fad 

90 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

and  go  back  to  the  pastime  of  earning  my 
living." 

"Oh,  but  we  can't  spare  you,"  Miss  Celeb- 
rity declared,  leaning  forward  a  little.  "Why, 
I  am  thinking  of  giving  a  costume  dinner,  just 
because  I  know  you  would  wear  something  so 
— so  Ffloydy,  you  know."  She  smiled  down 
at  him,  and  he  was  back  again,  body  and  soul, 
his  momentary  discontent  a  thing  to  be  scorned 
and  forgotten.  "Come  to-morrow  afternoon 
and  help  me  plan  it,"  she  added,  leaning  back 
again  with  a  bow  of  dismissal. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  demanded  Ffloyd, 
"that  you've  kept  me  here  all  this  while  and 
aren't  going  to  ask  me  to  drive  home  with 
you?" 

"Well,  really,  this  seat  will  hardly  hold 
three,"  she  objected. 

"What's  the  matter  with  this,  then?"  And 
he  seated  himself  at  their  feet,  his  own  resting 
on  the  low  step. 

"Very  well — if  you  are  comfortable,"  she 
assented. 

"Now,  I  object!"  exclaimed  the  other  girl. 
"You  may  be  considered  spoilt,  and  he  may  be 
considered  mad,  but  I  am  not  considered  any- 
pi! 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

thing  interesting,  and  I  have  to  keep  up 
appearances.  I  will  not  have  it." 

Ffloyd  leaned  back  and  protested  volubly, 
apparently  quite  unconscious  of  anything  con- 
spicuous in  his  position.  Only  once  he  looked 
disconcerted  for  a  second,  and  caught  off  his 
hat  rather  confusedly  to  some  one  who  stared 
at  him  in  grave  wonder  as  she  nodded. 

"I  should  call  that  the  'Hello,  Edy,'  "  sug- 
gested Miss  Celebrity,  meeting  his  eyes  as  he 
rose.  He  laughed,  but  did  not  explain;  and 
Charlotte  went  home  saying  to  herself,  "Oh, 
dear  me!  How  long  must  it  last?" 

They  planned  a  costume  dinner,  and  then 
they  added  a  fancy  dress  ball,  and  by  the  time 
the  invitations  were  out,  it  promised  to  be  a 
very  elaborate  occasion. 

"People  hate  dressing  up,  but  they  would 
hate  worse  not  to  come,"  said  Miss  Celebrity, 
with  the  tranquil  assurance  that  so  fascinated 
Ffloyd.  He  had  given  up  even  the  pretense 
of  working  now,  and  the  "year  in  Paris"  fund 
for  which  he  had  labored  so  earnestly  was  re- 
duced to  a  bare  month  in  New  York  by 
clothes,  hansoms,  entertainments,  and  offerings 
for  the  lady. 

"For  a  man  who  is  always  bragging  of  his 
92 


LORRIMER  BECOMES  A  FAD 

poverty — "  she  commented  when  he  came  in 
with  a  great  church  candelabrum  of  wrought 
brass  nearly  as  tall  as  himself  under  each  arm. 

'"Mais  quel  geste!' "  he  quoted  with  Cy- 
rano's own  magnificence  as  he  set  them  down 
on  either  side  of  the  tea  table.  "I  walked  up 
with  them  (if  I  had  taken  a  cab,  I  could  only 
have  given  you  one),  and  Wattie  Van  Court 
nearly  fell  out  of  the  club  window  trying  to 
see  what  they  were.  I  think  he  decided  they 
were  the  latest  thing  in  walking  sticks,  and 
went  down  to  get  some  at  once." 

"It  is  a  responsible  position,  to  be  a  leader 
of  fads,"  she  warned  him.  "On  Sunday  I  saw 
seven  men  with  carnations  upside  down  in 
their  buttonholes.  It  is  time  for  something 
new.  Remember,  I  trust  you  to  make  my 
party  the  most  talked  of  one  of  the  century." 

Ffloyd  was  ready  early  on  the  night  of  the 
dinner,  but  he  was  careful  to  arrive  the  last 
of  all.  The  drawing-room  was  brilliant  with 
personages — Lady  Macbeth,  Folly,  Crom- 
well, Sir  Galahad,  the  usual  collection  of 
Queen  Louise  of  Prussias — seventeen  alto- 
gether, with  Miss  Celebrity  resplendent  as  the 
Princess  Scheherezade.  When  the  portieres 
were  drawn  back  and  "Mr.  Lorrimer  Ffloyd" 

93 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

was  announced,  every  one  stopped  talking  and 
turned  towards  the  door.  There  was  a  half 
second  of  suspense,  then,  as  Ffloyd  appeared 
between  the  curtains,  a  burst  of  laughter,  a 
clapping  of  hands,  an  eager  coming  forward 
of  knights  and  queens. 

"And  this  was  once  Thomas  L.  Floyd  of 
Metuchen,"  flashed  through  his  mind  as  he 
bowed  his  greetings.  His  costume  was  plain 
enough,  but  it  had  taken  even  better  than  he 
had  dared  to  hope,  for  he  was  simply  made  up 
to  represent  his  own  well  known  caricature  of 
himself. 

He  turned  to  speak  to  the  Princess  Scheher- 
ezade,  and  they  shouted  again  at  his  profile 
aspect — the  long,  pointed  nose,  exaggerated 
glasses,  and  clinging,  dank  hair  of  the  familiar 
cartoon.  Even  the  nervous  haste  of  his  pic- 
tured movements  was  reproduced  by  a  clever 
wiring  of  his  garments.  The  princess  smiled 
on  him  and  gave  him  both  hands. 

"I  knew  you  would  do  it,"  she  said ;  "I  knew 
I  could  trust  you  for  a  sensation." 

Ffloyd  took  her  hands  and  bowed  over  them 
wordlessly.  A  stinging  excitement  was  flash- 
ing through  all  his  veins;  the  year  in  Paris 
was  well  Iost2  his  work  well  forgotten,  his  old 

94 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

world  well  left  behind.  It  was  perhaps  the 
gayest  moment  of  his  whole  life,  this  instant 
of  triumph  with  the  princess  smiling  at  him 
and  all  her  world  applauding. 

The  dinner  went  off  brilliantly.  Ffloyd 
was  in  mad  spirits,  but  kept  his  head  and 
played  his  game  with  caution,  dimly  realizing 
that  his  princess  would  not  easily  forgive  a 
false  move.  His  excitement  roused  an  aban- 
don in  the  others  that  spread  from  them 
through  the  whole  ball  afterwards,  so  that  it 
went  with  a  swing  and  gaiety  that  is  gen- 
erally crushed  out  of  large  affairs. 

Towards  the  end  he  went  and  stood  before 
his  hostess,  mutely. 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

"Haven't  I  been  good?"  he  began. 

"Good  as  gold." 

"And  I  helped  make  your  party  a  success?" 

"You  did.  You  were  the  belle  of  the  eve- 
ning." 

"And  you  like  me?" 

"Oh— perhaps." 

"Well,  then,  don't  I  get  a  little  five  minutes 
of  royal  society,  all  to  myself?  Haven't  I 
earned  it?" 

She  laughed  indulgently  and  let  him  lead 

95 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

her  away  to  a  quieter  neighborhood  where 
there  was  a  divan  down  behind  friendly 
palms. 

"Well?"  she  queried,  leaning  back  among 
the  cushions.  "How  are  you  going  to  amuse 
me?"  He  rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
looked  at  her  meditatively  over  his  clasped 
hands. 

"I've  been  amusing  you  for  weeks  and 
weeks,"  he  answered.  "Don't  you  think  it  is 
only  fair  you  should  amuse  me  for  a  few  mo- 
ments?" 

"But  I  never  amuse  people.  I  don't  know 
how,"  she  protested  lazily. 

"That's  because  you  are  what  novels  used 
to  call  'a  spoiled  beauty.' ' 

"And  what  would  they  call  me  now?"  she 
asked. 

"I  know  what  I  should  like  to  call 
you — but  I  don't  dare.  You  always  keep  me 
a  little  afraid  of  you,  princess,"  he  added  wist- 
fully, picking  up  one  of  the  gold  tassels  of  her 
gown  and  gently  beating  her  hand  with  it. 
"Why  won't  you  let  me  come  nearer?" 

"Indeed,  I  think  you  are  quite  near 
enough,"  she  returned  with  a  faint  shrug, 
moving  her  hand  away. 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

"But  I  feel  as  if  I  were  only  your  monte- 
bank,"  he  persisted.  "I  don't  want  that.  I 
want — "  He  broke  off  and  searched  her  eyes 
with  his  own.  She  gave  him  a  cool,  level 
glance  that  he  could  not  decipher,  then  looked 
off  down  the  brilliant  rooms.  A  man  in  or- 
dinary evening  dress  was  working  his  way  to- 
ward them,  evidently  looking  for  some  one. 
They  watched  him  until  he  was  near  their  cor- 
ner, then  she  rose  quietly  and  went  to  meet 
him. 

"Well,  Gerard,"  Ffloyd  heard  her  say, 
"when  did  you  get  back?" 

"Two  hours  ago,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
hadn't  any  costume  to  wearA  but  I  knew  you 
would  forgive  me." 

"Come  and  have  some  supper,"  she  said, 
laying  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Then  she  looked 
back  with  a  smile  of  apology  to  Ffloyd,  a  look 
that  left  him  very  contented.  It  did  not  oc- 
cur to  him  that  its  friendliness  might  not  be 
due  to  him  at  all.  He  felt  only  a  patronizing 
pity  for  the  fellow  who  had  to  pass  in  his  every 
day  plainness  where  every  one  else  was  beau- 
tiful or  fantastic. 

"He  must  feel  so  out  of  it,"  he  concluded 
comfortably. 

97  • 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

When  he  went  to  say  good  night,  the  plain 
clothes  man  was  still  with  her. 

"When  may  I  come  to-morrow?"  Ffloyd 
asked  confidentially  over  her  hand.  She 
lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"Oh,  really — I  don't  believe  I  shall  be  at 
home  to-morrow  at  all,"  she  said,  disposing  of 
him  with  a  little  nod  and  turning  back  to  her 
companion. 

Ffloyd  felt  himself  turn  white  under  his 
make-up ;  a  dull  chill  crept  down  his  arms  and 
through  his  whole  body,  and  his  brain  felt 
suddenly  numb.  It  was  not  until  he  was  lying 
back  in  a  corner  of  his  cab  that  the  blood 
rushed  up  into  his  face,  and  he  knew  how  hurt 
he  was.  He  went  to  bed  with  a  shrug  and  an 
attempted  laugh,  but  it  was  a  night  of  angry 
movements,  of  proud,  cutting  speeches  spoken 
half  aloud  in  the  darkness,  of  quick,  hard 
breathings  and  sudden  stoppages  of  his  ears 
with  desperate  hands. 

"Oh,  I  can  do  without  you,"  he  said  fiercely. 
"You've  neither  heart  nor  soul.  I  hate  your 
little  frosty,  affected  voice,  and  your  snobbish 
conceit,  and  your — God2 1  wish  I'd  never  seen 
you!" 

It  was  not  until  the  next  afternon  that  the 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

inevitable  reaction  came.  Perhaps  she  had 
not  really  meant  it  the  way  it  sounded.  She 
was  tired,  and  he  ought  to  have  realized  that 
she  would  not  want  visitors  the  day  after  such 
an  effort.  His  absurd  sensitiveness  had  taken 
offense  where  none  was  intended.  He  would 
go  to  see  her  on  Sunday  afternoon  just  as  usual 
and  then,  if  she  was  friendly  and  others  gave 
them  a  chance,  he  would  tell  her  what  she  had 
made  him  suffer,  and  she  would  be  grieved  as 
well  as  surprised.  He  planned  out  just  what 
she  would  say,  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 

He  went  through  many  different  stages  of 
feeling  during  the  next  few  days,  but  the 
glamour  was  round  him  again,  and  he  excused 
and  forgave  her  for  the  sake  of  going  back. 
On  Sunday  afternoon  he  pressed  her  bell  at 
the  usual  time,  with  a  few  casual  sentences  in 
his  mouth  and  his  heart  in  his  throat.  The 
footmen  were  so  much  furniture  to  him  now 
in  his  greater  dread. 

She  was  seated  at  her  tea  table  with  the  man 
she  had  called  Gerard  beside  her.  About  a 
dozen  people  were  scattered  through  the  great 
room.  He  saw  with  an  inner  sinking  that  the 
candelabra  she  had  coveted  and  he  had  dis- 
covered for  her  were  no  longer  by  the  table.. 

99 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"That's  Lorrimer  Ffloyd,  you  know,"  he 
heard  some  one  say,  and  the  whisper  gave  him 
courage  to  go  on.  She  lifted  her  eyes  and 
glanced  at  him  carelessly. 

"Ah,  good  afternoon,"  she  said.  "Tea? 
Amy,  come  and  give  Mr.  Ffloyd  a  cup  of  tea. 
I  am  tired  of  posing  as  domestic."  She  rose 
and  crossed  over  to  a  deep  window  seat,  the 
new  man  following  her.  Ffloyd  talked  bril- 
liantly, if  a  trifle  incoherently,  to  the  girl  who 
took  her  place.  He  was  more  "Ffloydy"  than 
usual  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  but  those  about 
laughed  guardedly,  evidently  unwilling  to  let 
themselves  go,  and  they  talked  more  to  one 
another  than  to  him.  They  had  seen  his  cool 
reception,  and  were  visibly  drawing  back. 
Last  Sunday,  when  she  had  kept  him  beside 
her  all  the  afternoon,  his  least  word  had 
started  little  ripples  of  laughter,  and  he  had 
been  wreathed  and  laureled  with  their  ap- 
proval. Now  they  were  afraid.  "As  rats 
leave  a  sinking  ship,"  he  said  desperately  to 
himself. 

To  be  sure,  one  or  two  whom  he  had  always 
ignored  as  second  rate  made  furtive  advances 
to  him,  evidently  hoping  to  profit  by  his  re- 
verse. But  he  turned  hotly  from  the  oppor- 

100 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

tunity.  He  was  not  going  to  take  up  with 
second  best  now. 

"Another  royal  favorite  turned  down,"  one 
man  commented  to  another,  and,  though 
Ffloyd  did  not  hear  the  speech,  he  saw  it,  and 
felt  its  meaning.  He  was  too  proud  to  go,  so 
he  held  on  valiantly,  and  they  had  no  least 
suspicion  that  they  were  in  the  room  with  such 
suffering  as  the  deepest  tragedies  of  their  lives 
might  not  cause  them. 

When,  at  last,  he  was  back  in  his  own  room, 
he  called  in  his  philosophy,  and  then  his  sense 
of  humor,  to  the  aid  of  his  poor,  bleeding  van- 
ity, and  even  pulled  out  some  work,  whistling 
defiantly.  And  then  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  this  was  Sunday  night,  and  Charlotte 
was  even  now  making  the  salad,  laughing  her 
splendid  laugh  at  Paul's  wit  and  Cameron's 
absurdity,  while  Donna  helped  to  get  things 
ready,  and  Lanse  and  Evelyn  grew  flushed 
and  excited  over  the  interminable  play  in  a 
corner. 

"They  are  my  kind.  They  are  the  real 
thing  for  me,"  he  said,  pushing  back  his 
sketches.  "I  never  could  say  'Us'  in  any  other 
set.  And  I  threw  them  over  the  first  chance 
I  had!" 

101 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

Such  a  homesickness  for  the  little  flat  swept 
over  him  that  tears  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
threw  himself  face  down  on  the  narrow  bed. 
He  longed  for  their  simplicity,  their  kind 
hearts  and  honest  intentions  and  keen  wits, 
their  gaiety  and  their  earnestness.  Above  all, 
he  wanted  Donna.  And  he  had  cut  himself 
off  from  it  all!  For  long,  bitter  hours  he  lay 
there,  mastering  his  lesson. 

The  next  morning  at  nine  o'clock  Ffloyd  let 
himself  into  his  workroom.  The  air  was 
close  and  stale,  and  dust  lay  thick  everywhere. 
He  put  things  in  order  with  his  precise,  neat 
movements,  then  prepared  his  pencils,  and  sat 
down  before  his  drawing  board.  He  had 
paid  his  rent  that  morning,  and  the  remaining 
fifteen  cents  had  gone  for  his  breakfast.  He 
had  to  earn  his  luncheon  and  dinner,  if  he  was 
to  have  any. 

An  unexpected  exhilaration  crept  through 
him  at  the  prospect.  The  pencil  between  his 
fingers  brought  back  the  forgotten  joy  of 
work,  and  the  listlessness  faded  from  his  eyes. 
After  a  few  moments  he  began  to  sketch  with 
quick,  nervous  movements.  Soon  his  coat 
came  off,  his  cuff  was  pushed  back,  his  fore- 
head grew  intent,  and  he  worked  with  grow- 

102 


LORRIMER    BECOMES    A    FAD 

ing  excitement,  stopping  only  to  note  down 
the  ideas  that  came  crowding  in  upon  him; 
for,  without  knowing  it,  he  had  begun  the 
series  of  cartoons  that  was  to  carry  him  tri- 
umphantly into  all  the  magazine  fastnesses, 
and  to  turn  the  coveted  months  in  Paris  into 
years — "Mr.  Gosbek's  Career  as  a  Fad." 

By  noon  the  series  was  outlined  and  the  first 
sketch  practically  done;  and  all  the  bitterness 
and  the  misery  were  worked  away.  He  was 
restored  to  his  own  kind  and  people.  He 
could  laugh  now,  and  he  could  let  the  world 
laugh  with  him,  for  he  had  the  upper  hand. 
He  had  found  himself. 

When  the  whistles  blew  he  put  away  his 
work  and  hurried  to  Donna's  apartment. 
It  was  evidently  one  of  her  domestic  days,  for 
an  odor  of  toast  greeted  him  as  she  opened  the 
door.  She  had  an  apron  over  her  gown  and 
a  fork  in  her  hand. 

"Donna,"  he  said,  "I  haven't  a  cent  in  the 
world,  but  I've  got  a  bully  idea,  and  if  you 
will  give  me  something  to  eat,  I'll  tell  you 
about  it." 

She  laughed  gladly,  seeing  at  a  glance  that, 
whatever  the  cause,  Ffloyd  had  come  to  him- 
self again.  An  omelet  was  made  on  the  gas 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

stove,  and  stores  were  brought  out  of  the  cup- 
board, and  they  talked  shop  and  laughed  and 
grew  excited,  just  as  they  had  always  done. 
Her  unconscious  voice,  warm  and  spontane- 
ous, thrilled  him  indescribably.  It  was  a 
home  coming  that  made  all  those  wretched 
hours  worth  while.  When  he  said  good-by 
he  took  both  -her  hands  and  beat  them  softly 
together,  looked  straight  into  her  friendly 
eyes. 

"Donnie,  I've  been  drunk,  plain  drunk," 
he  said.  "It  went  to  my  head.  But  what 
else  could  you  expect  of  a  person  who  began 
as  Thomas  L.  Floyd,  of  Metuchen?" 

"Well,  you  got  'Mr.  Gosbek'  out  of  it,"  she 
suggested. 

"I  got  something  better  than  that,"  he  said, 
turning  away.  "Good-by,  little  girl!" 


104 


CHAPTER  V. 

"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER." 

EARLY  every  Sunday  afternoon  Cam- 
eron  climbed  up  to  Lorrimer  Ffloyd's 
bare  attic  of  a  workroom  to  see  if  there 
were  any  new  cartoons  for  him  to  roar 
over.  He  was  a  most  satisfactory  patron 
of  humorous  art;  not  a  stroke  of  irony,  not 
a  waggish  curve,  escaped  him,  and  before 
the  best  of  them  he  would  laugh  him- 
self into  great  sobs,  pounding  his  thighs, 
trying  to  gasp  out  the  wording  of  the  point 
on  which  he  was  so  deliciously  impaled, 
but  seldom  getting  beyond,  "But  he — but  he — 
but — oh,  I  shall  die!"  The  unconsciousness 
of  the  tribute  made  it  doubly  endearing.  It 
never  occurred  to  Cameron  that  Ffloyd,  bent 
down  over  his  drawing  board,  with  only  a 
dry  twist  of  a  smile  at  one  corner  of  his  mouth, 
was  nevertheless  eagerly  watching  for  the  ver- 
dict of  his  delight.  The  boy  did  not  dream 
of  forcing  his  appreciation,  or,  indeed,  of  con- 
sidering Ffloyd  at  all  in  the  matter.  He  came 

105 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

because  he  adored  a  funny  picture  and  because 
Ffloyd's  were,  of  course,  the  funniest  in  the 
world;  and  he  never  suspected  why  the  week's 
work  was  not  sent  off  till  after  Sunday,  or 
wondered  that  Ffloyd  was  seldom  or  never 
out  on  that  afternoon  of  leisure.  They  fre- 
quently fell  into  long  talks,  afterwards,  and 
the  na'ive  faith  with  which  Cameron  asked 
and  listened  was  a  new  and  touching  experi- 
ence to  the  solitary  man.  Ffloyd  was  fond  of 
describing  himself  as  "the  cat  who  walked 
by  his  lone,  waving  his  wild  tail,"  and  he  wil- 
fully kept  away  casual  friendships ;  but  he  was 
defenseless  against  the  simplicity  of  this  boy's 
admiration.  More  and  more  he  watched  for 
his  coming  and  laid  traps  to  keep  him.  Some- 
times, after  Cameron  had  gone,  a  great,  prim- 
itive quickening  came  upon  him,  undoing  the 
ordered  bleakness  of  his  outer  life,  and  bring- 
ing him  to  the  impatient  declaration: 

"I  want  a  son — Good  God,  I  want  a  son!" 
Ffloyd  was  secretive  about  his  work  until 
it  was  finished,  profoundly  irritated  if  others 
knew  or  questioned  him  upon  its  subject.  In 
the  first  glow  or  doubt  of  an  idea,  he  usually 
hurried  to  Donnar  but  after  that  even  she  did 
not  venture  near  the  topic  until  invited.  The 

106 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

historic  Monday  that  gave  him  "Mr.  Gos- 
bek's  Career  as  a  Fad"  was  followed  by  weeks 
of  silent  and  merciless  labor.     He  was  utterly 
out  of  money;  and  though  any  editor  would 
have  given  him  large  sums  down  at  a  hint  of 
the  series,  Ffloyd  would  have  starved  rather 
than  thrust  the  newborn  idea  naked  into  the 
world.  So  he  did  pot  boilers  and  filled  orders, 
working  night  as  well  as  day,  and  offering 
these  for  Cameron's  amusement  at  his  Sunday 
visits.     It  was  hard,  sometimes,  to  wait  for 
the  excitement  that  must  greet  "Mr.  Gosbek" ; 
but  he  was  too  jealous  for  the  series  as  a  whole 
to  borrow  any  laughter  ahead.     He  felt  that 
it  was  good :  that  here,  at  last,  was  a  worthy 
satire,  worthily — even  perfectly — done,   and 
that  the  hour  of  big  success  was  at  hand.     He 
walked  in  a  dream  these  days,  and  inspira.- 
tion  burned  like  a  torch  behind  the  minute 
patience  of  his  cramped  hand  and  bent  body. 
It  was  a  Saturday  night  when  the  last  stroke 
was  made,  and  Sunday  morning  was  a  long 
fever  of  expectation.     A  lover  could  not  have 
awaited  his  lady  more  eagerly  than  Ffloyd 
awaited  Cameron's  first  great  laugh.     When 
his  usual  hour  approached,  Ffloyd  laid  the 
sketches  in  a  careless  pile  on  the  table,  and, 

107 


getting  out  a  portfolio  of  old  studies  and  first 
draughts,  took  one  at  random  and  pretended 
to  go  to  work  on  it.  Cameron's  knock  made 
his  heart  leap  and  quiver  like  a  frightened 
rabbit. 

"Come,"  he  called,  then  added  a  brief 
"Hello!"  being  apparently  too  busy  to  lift  his 
eyes  from  the  drawing  board. 

u'Lo,"  returned  Cameron  cheerfully. 
"Thought  I'd  drop  in.  Any  new  pictures?" 

Ffloyd  dipped  his  head  towards  the  long  ta- 
ble with  a  careless,  "U'm-h'm."  For  a  breath- 
less moment  he  waited  for  the  opening  chord, 
the  first  growing  chuckle  of  appreciation; 
then,  stealing  a  swift  glance,  he  saw  with  dis- 
may that  Cameron  had  fallen  on  the  open 
portfolio,  not  noticing  the  unpretentious  pile 
of  new  work.  He  took  breath  to  speak,  but 
closed  his  lips  again  and  settled  grimly  to  the 
task  of  waiting.  That  old  truck  would  not 
hold  the  boy  long.  As  Cameron,  leaning  on 
his  elbows,  giggled  comfortably  at  his  discov- 
eries, smiling  lines  of  anticipation  appeared 
about  Ffloyd's  eyes,  but  he  did  not  look  round, 
even  when  a  boyish  roar  of  delight  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  rather  long  silence.  He  was  too 

1 08 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

intent  on  the  coming  triumph  to  wonder  or 
care  what  might  be  in  the  old  portfolio. 

After  the  silence  had  lasted  several  mo- 
ments, Cameron  straightened  up.  "Well,  I 
must  be  going,"  he  said.  There  was  constraint 
under  his  manful  carelessness,  but  Ffloyd  did 
not  notice. 

"Just  take  a  look  at  that  series  I  have  done," 
he  suggested,  and  turned  away  again  as  Cam- 
eron obeyed.  He  heard  the  first  sheet  lifted, 
and  allowed  for  a  pause  while  the  lines  be- 
neath were  being  read.  Perhaps  he  had  not 
written  them  clearly;  or  his  impatience  could 
not  take  a  proper  measure  of  time — the  laugh 
was  so  long  in  coming.  Not  one  of  them  was 
funnier  than  that  first,  more  delicately  witty, 
more  crammed  with  mocking  human  truth. 
Yet  the  applause  still  held  off.  There  was  a 
second  rustle,  and  a  third,  and  at  last  he  had 
to  look. 

Cameron  was  taking  up  the  pictures  in  swift 
succession,  and  not  a  flicker  of  a  smile  showed 
in  his  face.  Sick  at  heart,  Ffloyd  watched 
him  go  through  to  the  very  end,  then  lay  them 
down  with  a  smothered  sigh. 

"Very  funny,"  he  said  baldly,  and  turned 
away.  "I  must  be  off." 

109 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

With  the  doorknob  in  his  hand  and  his 
back  turned,  he  added  a  difficult,  "Oh,  I  say — 
will  you  tell  my  mother  that  I  won't  be  home 
to  supper?"  Something  further  about  "one 
of  the  fellows"  trailed  after  him  as  he  closed 
the  door. 

Ftloyd's  bitter  disappointment  at  first  took 
the  form  of  wrath.  He  had  cast  his  pearls 
before  swine ;  the  great  lout  could  enjoy  noth- 
ing above  the  level  of  slapstick.  But  this  was 
so  notoriously  untrue  that  presently  he  had 
to  give  it  up,  and  his  anger  went  with  it,  leav- 
ing him  cold  and  desolate.  He  forced  him- 
self to  take  up  the  sketches,  one  by  one,  and, 
in  the  chilly  light  of  his  disappointment,  he 
saw  truly  at  last.  They  were  obvious,  dull, 
commonplace:  neither  in  idea  nor  in  execu- 
tion was  there  a  touch  of  the  distinction  that 
he  had  dreamed  into  them.  They  would  sell, 
no  doubt — poor,  ordinary  trash  often  did;  but 
not  one  inch  could  they  add  to  his  stature,  and 
his  career  would  end  as  it  had  begun,  with 
cartoons  of  big-bodied  politicians  and  clumsy 
allegories  on  parties  and  trusts.  No  house  of 
cards  ever  fell  more  prostrate  than  Ffloyd's 
many  sided  hopes  of  the  past  few  weeks.  He 
sat  staring  at  the  ruins  until  the  wintry  dusk 

JIO 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

added  its  desolating  touch,  then,  starting  up, 
he  seized  the  last  sketch  and  deliberately  tore 
it  across.  It  was  his  intention  to  serve  the 
whole  series  so,  but  at  the  sound  of  tearing  his 
heart  failed  him,  and  he  flung  them  into  a 
drawer. 

''That's  over,"  he  said  aloud,  as  the  drawer 
slammed.  "Well,  then!" 

Having  accepted  failure,  Ffloyd  was  impa- 
tient to  commit  himself  to  it,  to  leave  no  room 
for  future  delusions  about  his  career.  He 
saw  truly,  once  for  all,  and,  proudly,  hotly,  he 
prepared  to  abide  by  the  bleak  vision.  The 
means  to  his  end  lay  at  his  hand :  a  fifth  letter 
had  come  the  day  before  from  a  glaring  Sun- 
day newspaper,  desiring  to  buy  him,  body  and 
soul.  He  re-read  the  offer,  facing  what  it 
meant  with  savage  satisfaction,  as  though  he 
punished  an  enemy  by  accepting.  Three 
years  of  colored  supplements,  crude,  coarse, 
funny  to  the  child  of  the  slums  or  the  for- 
eign-born boor,  three  years  of  merciless  per- 
secution by  caricature  of  all  whom  the  paper 
hated,  without  regard  to  cause  or  creed :  it  was 
a  heavy  sentence,  but  Ffloyd  did  not  hesitate. 
Having  written  his  acceptance  in  his  usual 

am 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

neat,  precise  hand,  he  sealed  it  and  carried  it 
down  to  the  dark  street. 

He  had  not  meant  to  go  to  Charlotte's;  yet, 
once  out  in  the  Sunday  night  emptiness  of  the 
city,  it  was  easier  to  turn  that  way  than  to  de- 
cide what  to  do  with  his  wounded,  sullen  self. 
He  had  no  intention  of  telling  his  new  move. 
He  must  have  time  to  achieve  a  proper  flip- 
pancy before  he  met  their  grave  dismay. 

He  found  Charlotte  alone,  hovering  about 
her  supper  table,  and  the  seven  places  remind- 
ed him  of  her  son's  message.  She  received  it 
with  bewilderment. 

"But  Cameron  was  home  not  fifteen  minutes 
ago,"  she  protested.  "I  heard  him  come  in 
and  then  go  out  again.  Why  didn't  he  tell 
me  himself?" 

"Perhaps  he  thought  that  you  were  out," 
suggested  Ffloyd,  wandering  about  the  room 
and  wondering  impatiently  why  he  had  come. 

"No — I  called  and  he  answered."  Char- 
lotte was  troubled.  "He  couldn't  suppose  I 
would  interfere  with  his  going,  if  it  was — if 
it  wasn't — "  She  stood  with  one  hand  press- 
ing her  cheek,  frowning  anxiously  at  possi- 
bilities. "O  Lorrimer,  at  what  age  does  a 
boy  begin  to  do  what?" 

JI2 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

"Depends,"  was  the  heavy  answer. 

"It  is  so  unlike  him:  he  always  tells  every- 
thing he  knows !  How  did  he  seem  when  he 
gave  you  the  message?" 

"Constrained,  rather.  Kept  his  back 
turned."  Ffloyd  was  not  softening  facts  to- 
day. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  don't  like  it!"  Then,  as  the 
doorbell  rang,  she  passed  a  smoothing  hand 
across  her  forehead.  "Don't  say  anything  to 
the  others,"  she  added  hastily.  "Of  course,  it 
is  all  right.  Let  them  in,  Lorrimer." 

She  had  not  noticed  Ffloyd's  depression, 
and  though  he  had  meant  to  hide  it,  he  felt 
hurt  and  neglected  as  he  obeyed.  The  others, 
coming  in  with  fresh  cold  on  their  garments, 
bright  cheeks  and  quickened  voices,  seemed  to 
bring  a  mocking  air  of  success  with  their 
gaiety.  He  stood  aloof,  and  answered  greet- 
ings with  brief  sounds  that  had  little  welcome 
in  them.  They  were  indignant  at  the  news 
of  Cameron's  defection. 

"If  that  isn't  just  like  a  horrid  boy,"  Donna 
protested;  "to  prefer  some  little  scrub  of  a 
schoolmate  to  Us!" 

"We  don't  make  it  interesting  enough  for 
him,"  said  Paul  worriedly.  "He  fits  in  so  per- 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

fectly,  we  forget  what  a  kid  he  is.  I  don't 
mind  admitting  to  you,  Charlotte,  that  before 
he  came  I  had  my  doubts." 

"Doubts!  I  had  my  certainties,"  said 
Donna  with  a  laugh.  "I  thought  he  would  be 
dreadfully  in  the  way,  myself." 

Charlotte  was  smiling  over  the  implication. 
"I  know.  I  understood,  of  course.  But  he 
really  hasn't  been  a  bother,  has  he?" 

"Bother?"  It  was  a  general  protest.  "I 
never  really  knew  what  a  wit  I  was  till  I 
heard  Cameron's  laugh,"  Paul  added.  Lanse 
sighed. 

"I  never  before  met  any  one  who  would  lis- 
ten to  the  entire  plot  of  a  four-act  play,  and 
then  ask  for  more  details,"  he  explained.  "I 
was  planning  to  try  one  on  him  tonight." 

"Cameron  is  the  element  we  needed — the 
perfect  listener,"  Donna  said  thoughtfully, 
"Evelyn  listens,  but  one  isn't  quite  sure  what 
she  is  thinking,  down  behind  her  pretty  man- 
ners." The  two  smiled  at  each  other.  "But 
what  Cameron  is  thinking  is  written  on  every 
line  of  his  blessed  face." 

"The  dear  old  boy!"  Charlotte's  eyes  were 
warm  to  mistiness.  "Lanse,  pull  his  chair 
back;  I  can't  bear  to  see  it  empty.  Donna, 

114 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

do  you  and  Lorrimer  want  to  toast  the  muf- 
fins? Everything  else  is  ready." 

"We  do,"  Donna  assented  for  them  both. 
Ffloyd  followed  her  passively  to  the  gas  stove 
and  let  her  place  the  muffins  over  its  two  burn- 
ers without  interference  or  advice.  She  sent 
a  keen,  friendly  glance  into  his  face.  "What 
is  wrong,  Lorrimer?"  she  asked. 

He  deliberated  before  answering. 

"I  have  looked  into  a  crystal  and  seen  my 
own  future,"  he  said  at  last. 

"And  was  it  so  dreadful?" 

"That  depends  on  the  point  of  view.  I 
shall  probably  be  quite  satisfied  with  it,  in 
time." 

She  puzzled  over  his  meaning,  still  not  sure 
how  seriously  to  take  him,  but  inclined  to 
smile. 

"Well,  you  will  have  Us,  anyway,"  she  of- 
fered consolingly.  "We  are  all  in  your 
future,  aren't  we?" 

"No,"  was  the  dry  answer. 

"None  of  us?" 

"Not  one." 

Her  mouth  took  a  grave  line.     "Why  not?" 

"Because  it  is  so  written." 

"Lorrimer!    I  don't  like  you  tonight!" 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"I  am  sorry."  It  was  the  chilliest  of  snubs, 
but  Donna  did  not  resent  it.  She  had  always 
an  indulgence  that  was  almost  maternal  for 
Ffloyd's  difficult  nature. 

"You  couldn't  do  without  us,  my  dear,"  she 
said  gently.  uYou  would  come  back — waving 
your  wild  tail,  if  you  like!  But  you  would 


come." 


He  tried  to  keep  silent,  but  Paul's  voice 
reached  them  at  that  moment,  and  some  re- 
flection of  it  in  Donna's  face,  a  half  uncon- 
scious turn  of  her  head,  set  loose  a  dark  re- 
sentment never  before  even  acknowledged. 

"If  Paul  committed  all  the  seven  deadly 
sins,  he  would  still  hold  exactly  the  same  place 
with  you,"  he  said  with  biting  distinctness; 
"while,  for  an  error  in  taste^  I  should  be  cast 
out  forever." 

She  was  still  patient  with  him,  though  she 
looked  startled.  "Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Isn't  it  true?" 

"About  Paul?  Yes,  of  course.  But 
not " 

"Donna!  Something  is  burning!"  called 
Charlotte. 

There  was  a  guilty  start  and  a  sound  of 
hasty  scraping.  Donna  finished  in  silence, 

116 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

then  put  the  plate  into  Ffloyd's  hand  with  a 
smile. 

"Everybody  loves  everybody,  Lorry,"  she 
said  affectionately.  "Cheer  up  and  be  good." 
He  turned  away  with  a  scowl. 

Charlotte,  presiding  over  the  supper  table, 
appeared  her  usual  serene,  gay  self ;  but  Ffloyd 
would  lend  himself  to  no  such  histrionics.  He 
ate  in  gloomy  silence.  Friendly  attempts  to 
cheer  him  were  blankly  ignored,  raillery  was 
met  with  a  muffled  "H'h!"  of  contempt. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  lovely  to  be  a  man,"  Donna 
broke  out,  after  an  amused  attempt  to  pene- 
trate to  his  shrouded  attention.  "It  is  so  regal, 
someway,  to  be  cross  at  a  party.  No  woman 
ever  would." 

"She  would  be  too  vain,"  said  Lanse. 

"Too  socially  conscientious,"  Donna 
amended.  "She  feels  that  the  party  must  be 
a  success^  no  matter  what  it  costs  her.  Now 
Lorrimer  Ffloyd  doesn't  feel  that  way  at  all." 

Lorrimer  paid  no  attention,  but  Paul  came 
to  his  aid. 

"Well,  there  is  something  to  be  said  for 
Ffloyd's  way.  We  don't  have  to  strain  our  in- 
tuitions, keeping  up  with  him.  We  are  cer- 
tain that,  if  he  is  bothered  about  anything  he 

"7 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

will  jolly  well  let  us  know  it."  And  he  shot 
a  glance  at  Charlotte,  so  keen  that  a  guilty 
smile  betrayed  her. 

"But  do  we  always  want  to  know  it?"  ob- 
jected Lanse. 

"Exactly!"  Donna  assented.  "I  much  pre- 
fer the  worm  kept  in  the  bud,  myself,  unless 
there  is  something  active  I  can  do  for  it." 

Cameron  would  not  have  let  so  graphic  an 
opening  pass  unimproved,  and  the  pause  that 
followed  stood  for  him  so  vividly  that  they 
scolded  Charlotte  again  for  his  defection. 
The  suppressed  anxiety  crept  into  her  face  as 
she  protested  her  helplessness. 

"He  is  paying  us  back  for  not  quite  want- 
ing him  before  he  came,"  said  Donna.  "Lor- 
rimer,  did  you  ever  show  Charlotte  that 
wicked  sketch  you  did?  Have  you  kept  it?" 

Ffloyd  glanced  up  at  the  question,  at  first 
absently,  then  with  a  growing  fixety;  the 
startled  wonder  in  his  face  changed  to  dis- 
mayed certainty  as  he  slowly  laid  down  his 
knife  and  fork. 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  he  muttered. 

"What?  What  is  it?"  they  insisted.  Still 
he  stared,  a  gleam  of  excitement  lighting  his 
moody  eyes, 

:u8 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

"Oh,  I  wonder,  I  wonder!"  he  exclaimed, 
starting  up  from  the  table.  A  moment  later, 
they  heard  the  front  door  bang  after  him. 

"He  is  quite  mad,  but  never  mind,"  said 
Donna,  breaking  the  surprised  silence.  "We 
can  spare  him  tonight!" 

Ffloyd's  quarters  were  only  a  few  blocks 
distant,  and  he  ran  all  the  way.  Plunging 
into  his  workroom,  he  lit  a  light  and,  without 
waiting  to  get  his  breath,  shook  out  the  con- 
tents of  the  old  portfolio  on  the  table.  Yes, 
there  it  was,  the  bitter  sketch  showing  the 
bored  six  gathered  about  the  obnoxious  in- 
fant; and  no  date  on  it  to  show  that  it  had 
been  done  before  the  boy  himself  came  and 
belonged  to  them.  No  wonder  the  laughter 
had  been  knocked  out  of  Cameron,  that  sorry 
afternoon!  In  his  relief,  Ffloyd  could  have 
cried  over  the  boy's  hurt  and  his  manful  reti- 
cence. 

"The  dear  old  kid!"  he  muttered,  and  stood 
staring  about  for  a  way  to  right  matters.  A 
moment  later  he  had  spread  out  a  fresh  sheet 
and  was  furiously  at  work.  The  same  figures 
were  dashed  in,  only  now  they  were  all  eager, 
imploring,  stretching  out  begging  hands  to 
a  glorious  youth  who  was  stepping  debon- 

119 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

nairely  out  of  the  door,  with  a  careless  back- 
ward wave  to  the  group.  The  first  picture 
was  labeled,  "As  we  thought  it  would  be," 
and  dated;  under  the  date  of  the  second  he 
wrote,  "As  it  is."  With  a  chuckle  of  satisfac- 
tion, he  started  to  his  feet,  but  at  the  door  hesi- 
tated, then  turned  to  a  table  drawer.  "Mr. 
Gosbek's  Career"  also  went  with  him. 

He  walked  more  slowly,  returning,  looking 
about  him  with  alert,  happy  eyes.  He  tried 
not  to  hope,  but  that  grim  revelation,  which 
he  had  called  True  Sight,  was  mercifully 
leaving  him;  his  arm  tightened  excitedly 
against  "Mr.  Gosbek."  There  might  still  be 
a  chance! 

A  dreary  little  restaurant,  one  of  the  few 
open  on  Sundays,  attracted  his  attention  by 
breathing  hot  cakes  at  him.  He  had  eaten 
almost  nothing  all  day,  and  he  paused, 
tempted,  and  wondering  if  Charlotte's  supper 
were  over.  Then  he  drew  hastily  back  from 
the  doorway,  for,  alone  at  a  long  marble  table, 
sat  Cameron,  hunched  down  over  his  plate, 
his  dejected  head  resting  on  one  hand.  Ffloyd 
knew  now  with  pained  certainty  how  he  had 
been  hurt,  and  longed  to  go  to  him,  but  turned 
and  went  slowly  on.  For  there  was  no  phase 

120 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

of  wounded  pride  that  Ffloyd  did  not  under- 
stand; and  he  knew  that  the  boy  would  shrink 
from  discovery,  would  hate  being  hunted  up 
and  appeased.  It  was  Ffloyd  at  his  dearest 
and  sunniest  who  came  back  to  Charlotte's, 
making  them  all  shout  with  his  two  sketches. 
"Mr.  Gosbek"  was  left  concealed  under  his 
coat. 

Cameron  had  had  a  bad  time  since  he  came 
on  the  forgotten  sketch  that  afternoon.  At 
first  glance  the  unmistakable  figures  with  their 
exaggerated  boredness  had  struck  him  as  en- 
chantingly  funny;  then  it  had  dawned  on  him 
that  the  infant  in  the  center  was  significantly 
clothed  in  a  Cameron  plaid.  His  laughter 
ended  as  he  looked  more  closely.  The  bal- 
loon face,  into  which  had  been  drawn  a  wicked 
likeness  to  Charlotte,  was  inevitably  somewhat 
like  his  own.  Charlotte  had  been  sketched 
with  her  finger  on  her  lips,  and  her  anxious 
attitude,  as  well  as  the  listless  irritation  of 
the  rest,  took  on  a  significance  which  caught 
the  boy  in  the  side  like  a  knife  thrust.  He 
stared  in  wide-eyed  misery,  trying  to  find  some 
other  explanation,  some  loophole  by  which 
he  might  escape  back  to  happiness. 

He  had  always  been  wanted,  Welcome, 
121 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

was,  in  his  eyes,  not  a  special  blessing,  but  the 
natural  air  that  one  breathed  in  this  jolly 
world.  His  delightful  uncle  had  wanted  him 
as  a  pupil,  the  boys  had  wanted  him  in  their 
games  and  clubs ;  all  those  four  years,  in  every 
letter,  while  his  mother  worked  her  way  up 
to  the  success  that  would  let  her  have  him 
back,  she  had  wanted  him.  Even  her  won- 
derful friends  had  seemed  to  want  him  when 
he  came.  He  had  seized  on  the  bright  central 
vacancy  of  the  hearth  rug  as  his  natural  and 
rightful  position,  and  had  wallowed  there, 
butting  his  head  against  his  mother's  slipper 
in  his  affection,  or  obligingly  rolling  over 
when  the  atmosphere  began  to  "smell  like 
ironing  day,"  as  they  expressed  it;  and  the 
others,  lounging  in  the  shadow,  seemingly 
grouped  about  him  as  much  as  about  the  coal 
fire,  had  shot  their  unchecked  speech  back 
and  forth  across  him,  and  had  appeared  by 
their  laughter  and  their  kind  eyes  to  admit 
him  to  their  very  center  and  welcome  him 
there.  Now  this  travesty,  this  goggling  baby 
on  the  central  rug  and  the  naked  ennui  of  the 
rest,  came  to  him  like  a  horrible  revelation. 
He  was  really  an  intrusion,  a  spoil  sport. 
They  did  not  want  him;  they  only  pretended 

1122 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

to,  out  of  politeness.  They  had  better  times 
without  him.  A  surge  of  anger  followed  the 
first  dismayed  pain.  He  would  show  them! 
He  set  his  teeth  and  forced  his  softening  eyes 
to  stare  at  the  sketch  until  they  were  hard 
and  bright  again.  To  get  away  with  his  hurt 
undetected  was  his  one  thought. 

After  a  long  walk,  he  discovered  that  he 
had  no  money  with  him,  and  trudged  drearily 
back  again.  His  mother's  voice  and  the  bright 
rooms  nearly  broke  down  his  pride,  but  he 
drove  himself  out.  By  means  of  a  newspaper, 
he  prolonged  his  meal  until  the  restaurant  was 
nearly  empty,  then  tried  to  turn  again  away 
from  home.  But  he  could  not.  He  must  go 
back,  wanted  or  not  wanted.  Pride  crumbled 
before  sheer  homesickness.  He  would  try  not 
to  be  in  the  way.  His  mother  wouldn't  hate 
having  him,  anyway.  The  appeal  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  climbed  the  stairs,  would  have  wrung 
their  hearts,  could  they  have  seen  it  and  un- 
derstood. 

His  heavy  step  was  greeted  with  calls  and 
laughter.  His  mother's  relieved, 

"Where  have  you  been,  bad  boy?"  was 
drowned  under  commands  to  "Look!"  as  they 
drew  him  towards  two  sketches  pinned  above 

123 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

the  mantelpiece.  At  first  glance,  he  winced 
and  flushed;  then  went  steadily  up  to  them, 
with  Ffloyd's  hand  on  his  back. 

He  did  not  laugh  as  much  as  they  had 
laughed;  but  as  he  looked  at  the  two  dates 
and  took  in  the  significance  of  that  second 
grouping,  his  face  lit  and  warmed  and  beamed 
on  them  until  they  laughed  again  at  the  trans- 
formation. Ffloyd,  knowing  that  his  guess 
had  been  right,  grew  madly  merry;  none  of 
their  suppers  had  ever  wound  up  more  gaily, 
though  only  two  know  why  the  atmosphere 
of  the  little  room  was  so  charged  with  warmth 
and  radiance. 

When  all  but  Donna  had  gone,  and  she  was 
reluctantly  turning  to  her  wraps,  Ffloyd  pro- 
duced "Mr.  Gosbek,"  laying  the  sketches 
carelessly  on  the  table  before  Cameron. 

"Have  I  shown  you  these?"  he  asked.  Cam- 
eron bent  eagerly  down  over  the  first  one. 

"Why,  no,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  while  Donna 
and  Charlotte  gossipped  in  the  hall.  Then 
a  chuckle  sounded,  followed  by  a  muffled  ex- 
plosion; then  a  great,  cracking  laugh  was 
flung  straight  up  to  the  ceiling,  a  very  yell  of 
joy — the  perfect  response  of  Ffloyd's  desires, 

124 


"MR.  GOSBEK'S  CAREER" 

The  two  women  came  hurrying  back,  but 
Cameron  could  only  gasp  and  heave  and  smite 
his  great  person,  and  thrust  the  first  sketch  into 
their  hands  while  he  dried  his  eyes  and  seized 
the  next.  Ffloyd  was  destined  to  gain  many 
coveted  glories  in  the  years  ahead,  but  suc- 
cess never  tasted  sweeter  than  in  that  half 
hour,  with  his  own  people  shaken  by  laughter 
and  laying  excited  hands  on  his  shoulders  and 
telling  him  that  he  had  done  it  at  last.  There 
was  no  dryness  in  his  response,  no  baffling  con- 
cealments; he  stood  shining  on  them,  drinking 
in  their  words,  waiting  in  open  joy  while  they 
went  over  and  over  the  work. 

"There  is  one  more,  but  it  got  torn,"  he 
said.  "I  can  mend  it."  And,  taking  from  his 
pocket  a  sealed  and  stamped  letter,  he  dropped 
it  into  the  fire. 

Donna  came  and  stood  beside  him  as  he 
watched  his  commitment  to  failure  burn. 

"I  see  a  vision  of  your  future,  too,  Lorri- 
mer,"  she  said.  "But  I  don't  see  why  it  ex- 
cludes Us.  You  needn't  be  as  proud  as  all 
that." 

"What  I  saw  wasn't  a  vision — it  was  a  bad 
dream,"  he  said  quickly.  "It  is  all  over.  I 
see  truly  now,  my  dear!" 

125 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  WRITER  OF  PLAYS. 

t_JAD  she  been  born  several  centuries 
earlier,  Evelyn  would  have  pinned  her 
favor  on  her  knight's  sleeve  and  assisted  him 
into  his  armour  with  steady  hands  and  exalted 
eyes.  He  who  loved  her  must  excel ;  and  man 
must  know  his  excellence.  Being  too  late  for 
tourneys,  she  dispatched  a  nervous  young  play- 
wright to  face  his  unsympathizing  father  with 
the  same  imperious  ambition.  She  was  fas- 
tidious about  distinction,  as  about  everything 
else:  for  mere  money  she  had  a  contempt 
possible  only  to  one  who  had  never  lacked  it; 
but  the  honors  won  by  the  brain,  by  talent 
and  hot  imagination,  marked,  in  her  eyes,  the 
true  aristocracy.  When  that  life  was  open 
to  a  man,  she  had  only  impatience  for  hesita- 
tion, no  matter  what  its  source. 

"You  have  been  your  father's  son  long 
enough,  Lanse,"  she  declared,  standing, 
straight  and  spirited,  before  him.  "The  time 
has  come  when  you  must  be  yourself." 

127 


It  was  significant  of  their  intimacy  that 
Lanse,  the  supremely  well  mannered,  kept  his 
seat,  looking  up  at  her  with  worried  intent- 
ness. 

''But  what  if  I  can't  do  it,  Evelyn?  What 
if  we  are  mistaken  in  thinking  that  I  have 
talent?" 

"Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  talk  that  way " 

She  turned  away  from  him  in  disdain  and, 
sitting  down  at  the  piano,  began  to  strike 
martial  chords.  "Why  don't  you  go  and  have 
it  out  with  him  now?"  she  suggested  over  her 
shoulder.  Lanse  sighed  and  hesitated. 

"I  hate  to  spoil  his  Sunday,"  he  objected; 
but  presently  he  went. 

It  was  no  mock  contest  to  which  she  had 
sent  him.  The  solemn,  old-fashioned  gentle- 
man, with  his  dislike  of  the  stage  and  impa- 
tience of  artists,  his  pride  in  the  business 
which  three  generations  of  oldest  sons  had 
built  up  in  prosperity  and  honor,  could  never 
accept  the  fact  that  he  had  fathered  one  of 
the  alien  tribe,  and  that  the  drama-loving  son, 
with  his  complex  moods  and  sensitivenesses, 
his  oblivious  joy  before  "situations"  and  his 
blank  unresponse  to  the  problems  of  business, 
was  not  designed  to  carry  on  the  family  name 

128 


A  WRITER   OF   PLAYS 

in  its  old  channels.  That  Lanse  would  work 
at  plays  in  his  spare  time  had  long  been  a 
bitter  grievance;  how  he  would  take  an  open 
attempt  at  a  playwright's  career  was  a  seri- 
ous question.  Could  any  one  have  made  him 
understand  that  his  son  found  him  "pathetic," 
sorrowed  as  well  as  smiled  over  his  disappoint- 
ment, tried  honestly  to  protect  him  from  too 
much  knowledge  of  things  as  they  are,  as  one 
protects  the  touching  ignorance  of  a  child, 
and,  in  his  heart,  considered  him  a  poor,  dear, 
dull  old  Philistine  who  couldn't  help  it — the 
old  gentleman's  unsound  heart  would  proba- 
bly have  carried  him  off  on  the  spot.  He  was 
always,  in  every  capacity,  the  honored  head 
of  the  firm;  he  could  not  have  wound  his 
watch  or  taken  off  his  boots  without  some 
touch  of  that  dignified  consciousness.  Never 
once,  in  all  the  years  of  sharp  criticism  on  his 
son,  had  it  occurred  to  him  to  wonder  what 
Lanse  thought  of  him.  On  that  count,  Lanse 
had  been  a  better  son  than  he  could  ever 
know.  It  was  this  protective  pity  as  well  as 
nervous  horror  of  a  scene  that  made  Lanse 
walk  so  slowly  back  to  the  big,  solid,  ugly, 
prosperous  home  of  his  childhood. 

He  had  left  Evelyn  soon  after  luncheon, 
129 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

promising  to  return  and  tell  her  of  the  en- 
counter, but  the  long  Sunday  afternoon  passed 
without  bringing  him.  She  waited  until  it 
was  almost  time  for  supper  at  Charlotte's,  then 
hurried  off,  hoping  to  find  him  there;  but  he 
had  not  come  or  sent  word,  and  they  finally 
ate  supper  without  him. 

It  was  one  of  their  quiet  evenings.  There 
was  no  light  in  the  little  sitting  room  but  the 
glow  of  the  coal  fire,  and,  after  they  had  set- 
tled down,  no  sound  but  the  tinkle  of  spring 
rain  on  the  windows.  Cameron  had  stretched 
his  young  bulk  on  the  hearth  rug  in  Sunday 
night  beatitude,  and  Charlotte  presently  bent 
down  to  slip  a  cushion  under  his  head. 

"I  wonder  where  Lanse  can  be?"  she  said. 
"It  is  so  unlike  him,  not  even  to  send  word. 
Lanse  really  has  beautiful  manners,"  she 
added  reflectively. 

"H'h!"  grunted  Lorrimer  Ffloyd,  as  though 
recognizing  some  tacit  implication.  Paul's 
voice  came  tolerantly  from  the  darkest  cor- 
ner. 

"Ffloyd's  manners  aren't  half  as  bad  as  they 
used  to  be." 

"That  so?"  Ffloyd  spoke  anxiously.  "I 
130 


A   WRITER   OF   PLAYS 

hope  to  heaven  that  I  am  not  degenerating 
into  a  young  gentleman!" 

"If  I  couldn't  prove  myself  a  genius  ex- 
cept by  my  manners—  Donna  threw  out, 
and  the  two  smiled  amicably  at  each  other. 

"I  know  what  is  keeping  him,"  Evelyn  said 
hesitatingly;  uonly  I  thought  perhaps  he 
would  rather  tell  you  himself.  It  is  so  fright- 
fully exciting.  Henry  Grenville  likes  his 
play." 

There  was  a  stir  of  interest,  a  sitting  up 
of  recumbent  forms. 

"Has  he  taken  it?"  they  demanded. 

"He  has  only  had  the  first  act  and  the 
scenario  of  the  rest,  but  he  says,  definitely, 
that  he  will  take  it  if  it  doesn't  fall  off,  and 
he  wants  Lanse  to  finish  it  at  once,  because 
his  present  play  is  not  going  well.  Don't  you 
think  he  ought  to  seize  such  a  chance?  That 
I  am  right  in  urging  him?" 

"Rather!  I  should  say  so!"  It  was  a  gen- 
eral assent.  "And  you  mean  that  Lanse  is 
at  work  now?"  Charlotte  added. 

Evelyn's  face  clouded.  "Oh,  no;  I  am 
afraid  he  is  telling  his  father,"  she  explained, 
with  a  naivete  that  made  them  laugh.  "It  is 
not  a  joke!  He  will  have  to  get  time  off  from 

131 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

the  office  to  do  this,  and  his  father — well,  you 
know!"  They  did  know;  and  it  was  a  sober- 
ing thought. 

"Poor  boy,"  murmured  Charlotte. 

"And  poor  old  man,"  added  Paul.  "How 
came  he  by  Lanse,  I  wonder!" 

"There  he  is,"  exclaimed  Cameron  as  the 
bell  rang,  and  Charlotte  rose  to  light  the  lamp, 
conscious  that  the  time  for  firelit  peace  was 
over. 

Lanse  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  knew,  but 
he  made  his  excuses  to  Charlotte  first.  In  the 
hour  of  death  or  the  Day  of  Judgment, 
Lanse's  silvery  blond  hair  would  be  smooth, 
his  dress  immaculate,  his  deferential  courtesy 
unruffled;  but  an  hour's  distress  could  leave 
his  boyish  face  drawn  and  lined  and  ten  years 
older.  They  felt  his  nervous  tension  so  keen- 
ly that  a  constrained  silence  might  have  fol- 
lowed if  Cameron,  happily  unconscious,  had 
not  blundered  to  the  rescue. 

"I  say,  Lanse,  what  did  the  old  man  do  to 
you?"  he  asked  confidentially,  and  so  threw 
a  welcome  gleam  of  comedy  on  the  situation. 
Lanse  laughed  with  the  rest,  and  took  a  chair 
beside  Evelyn. 

"How  much  do  you  know?"  he  began. 
132 


A  WRITER   OF  PLAYS 

"We  made  Evelyn  tell,"  Paul  explained. 

"Oh,  of  course.  Well,  I  have  to  make  my 
choice,  tonight.  I  thought  perhaps  you  could 
help  me."  He  looked  with  troubled  intensity 
from  one  to  another.  "If  I  do  this  play,  I 
leave  home,  and  I  don't  go  back  into  the  busi- 
ness. And,  incidentally,  I "  he  broke  off, 

breathing  nervously. 

"Yes ;  you  wound  your  father  deeply,"  said 
Charlotte  gently. 

"Oh,  but,  I  say,  mother!"  Cameron  ex- 
ploded, then  obeyed  her  silencing  gesture  with 
a  mutter  of  protest. 

"It  is  easy  to  call  him  narrow  and  dog- 
matic and  that,  but  it  doesn't  help  him,"  Lanse 
went  on.  "However,  I  think  that  can't  be 
helped.  The  real  question  is  the  practical  one. 
Can  I  risk  the  experiment?" 

"Grenville  has  promised  to  take  the  play," 
Evelyn  insisted. 

"But  suppose  I  fail  or  he  fails  me.  I  have 
no  money  of  my  own ;  and  I  couldn't  earn  my 
salt  in  a  business  where  I  was  not  the  only 
son."  He  winced  under  the  avowal,  moving 
his  shoulders  distressfully.  "How  I  do  loathe 
it!  But  one  must  have  money." 

Evelyn  broke  in  impatiently.    "Why  must 

133 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

one?  Talent  ought  not  to  be  held  down  for 
that!' 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  suppose  I  wanted 

to "  He  had  started  to  say,  "marry,"  but 

composure  suddenly  deserted  him  at  the  word, 
and  he  substituted,  "set  up  a  family,"  with  a 
flush  and  a  laugh.  "That  is  not  entirely  a 
vulgar  consideration,  is  it?" 

"It  is  a  secondary  consideration,"  she  said 
coolly. 

"I  am  not  so  sure.  It  isn't  a  bad  situation, 
you  know,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  others. 
"I  am  cast  out  of  my  father's  house  if  I  don't 
repent  by  nine  o'clock  tomorrow  morning.  It 
feels  biblical,  someway.  But  it  is  horrible  to 
hurt  people!"  with  a  shuddering  memory  of 
the  afternoon's  ordeal. 

"He  hurt  you,"  asserted  Cameron. 

"But  he  can't  understand;  he  is  hurt  in  the 
dark,  poor  old  boy.  I  understand  his  side 
just  as  well  as  mine,  you  see,  so  I  am  not  angry 
and  bewildered.  It  is  easier  for  me."  He 
started  to  his  feet.  "I  wish  I  had  never  heard 
of  the  theatre!  Charlotte,  what  would  you 
do?" 

"Just  what  you  are  going  to,"  said  Char- 
lotte gravely. 

134 


A   WRITER   OF   PLAYS 

They  all  turned  towards  her,  Cameron  ris- 
ing on  one  elbow  to  look  eagerly  into  her 
face. 

"I  know,"  exclaimed  Paul. 

"It  is  what  every  one  of  Us  would  do,"  she 
went  on.  "Sink  or  swim,  you  will  take  your 
chance,  every  time." 

"Hooray  I"  called  Cameron,  dropping  back 
again.  Lanse  was  looking  fixedly  at  Evelyn. 

"That  is  what  you  said!" 

"It  is  what  any  one  in  his  senses  would 
say;"  Lorrimer  Ffloyd  spoke  irritably.  "You 
can't  play  the  game  with  one  foot  touching 
base  all  the  time." 

"And  I  can  lend  you  a  little  if  you  get  hard 
up,"  added  Donna. 

Their  shout  of  laughter  seemed  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  remark;  but  it  was  the  poet  of 
the  group  who  always  struck  the  practical 
note,  and  they  had  learned  to  watch  for  it 
and  love  it. 

"I  suppose  it  really  is  settled,"  Lanse  ad- 
mitted, stretching  out  his  arms  with  a  sigh  of 
weariness.  "I  ought  to  spend  this  night  on 
my  knees  in  a  vigil,  oughtn't  I?  I  must  go 
home  now  and  pack  up.  I  shall  use  Stewart's 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

rooms  for  a  while — he  left  the  key  with  me. 
Pity  the  poor  outcast!" 

"With  quarters  at  the  Buffington!"  added 
Ffloyd  derisively. 

Lanse  went  to  bed  dismally  enough  that 
night  in  his  luxurious  borrowed  rooms ;  but  he 
awoke,  late  the  next  morning,  to  a  vast  relief. 
The  leap  was  taken ;  fail  or  succeed,  he  was  a 
playwright,  a  bright  escape  from  the  ponder- 
ous, crushing  machinery  of  business.  At  last 
he  could  be  himself.  Close  on  his  great  relief 
came  joyous  minor  reliefs :  there  was  no  family 
breakfast  table  awaiting  his  presence  below, 
no  grim  comment  to  be  encountered  from  an 
old-fashioned  gentleman  who  did  not  sympa- 
thize with  the  artistic  temperament,  and  cher- 
ished an  annoying  desire  to  have  all  his  family 
about  him  during  his  solemn  progress  from 
oatmeal  to  hot  cakes,  via  sausages  or  beefsteak. 
Lanse's  indifference  to  the  value  and  import- 
ance of  eight  o'clock  as  a  breakfast  hour,  and 
his  somewhat  shuddering  refusal  of  strong 
food,  tried  the  old  man  quite  as  much  as  the 
discordant  breakfast  bell  and  the  heavy,  un- 
beautiful  meal  did  the  younger,  though  the 
latter  bore  it  with  more  philosophy. 

"Poor  man,  he  can't  understand,"  Lanse  al- 
136 


A  WRITER   OF  PLAYS 

ways  concluded,  with  a  shrug;  "he  has  missed 
the  best  part  of  everything!" 

He  rose  at  his  leisure,  tubbed,  shaved,  and 
shampooed  exhaustively,  put  on  a  dressing 
gown  of  old  blue  with  a  silk  cord,  and  whistled 
down  a  tube  for  his  breakfast.  When  the  maid 
appeared  with  it,  he  was  in  an  interesting  atti- 
tude in  one  corner  of  the  divan,  smoking  a 
cigarette  over  the  morning  paper.  She  was 
an  unattractive  young  person — he  afterwards 
discovered  that  all  the  maids  employed  in  this 
great  bachelor  establishment  were  strikingly 
plain ;  but  she  drew  up  a  table  beside  him  with 
a  demure  little  air  that  was  not  displeasing, 
and  showed  a  friendly  solicitude  about  the 
softness  of  his  egg.  To  Lanse  it  was  all  im- 
mensely picturesque,  and  he  acted  the  part  of 
a  languid  hut  affable  young  prince  with  so 
much  satisfaction  to  himself  that  he  felt  no 
need  of  an  audience  to  appreciate  and 
applaud. 

When  that  scene  was  over,  he  played  a  little 
Chopin  with  one  finger  on  the  piano,  and 
sang  an  aria  with  more  dramatic  feeling  than 
voice;  then,  still  thrillingly  happy,  he  laid  out 
his  work.  His  father's  pain,  so  distressful  to 
him  yesterday,  had  grown  comfortably  re- 

137 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

mote,  the  dire  alternative  of  success  was  for- 
gotten. All  was  beatifically  well  with  the 
world  as  he  drew  up  to  the  great  carved  desk. 

It  was  a  beautiful  room  in  which  to  sit 
down  before  work.  The  dark  oak  panelling 
of  the  walls  rose  almost  to  the  dull  copper  of 
the  ceiling.  Lamps  and  other  furnishings  of 
copper  diffused  a  faint,  rosy  gleam  over  the 
sombre  richness  of  aged  carvings  and  draper- 
ies of  deep  brown  velvet.  Often  as  he  had 
visited  the  place?  Lanse  had  never  realized  be- 
fore how  many  lovely  things  it  held,  or  how 
subtly  these  were  arranged.  Half  an  hour 
after  sitting  down  he  caught  himself  still  gaz- 
ing luxuriously  about  him^  and  straightened 
up  to  his  work  with  a  guilty  laugh.  The  end 
of  a  second  half  hour  found  him  standing  on 
a  chair  to  examine  the  frame  of  an  old  Floren- 
tine mirror. 

"I  shall  be  used  to  it,  after  today,"  he  apolo- 
gized, startled  back  to  his  desk  by  the  solemn 
chimes  of  an  ancient  clock.  After  another 
hour's  struggle  with  inattention,  he  gave  up 
and  retreated  to  the  couch  with  a  book. 

"I  need  a  day  off,  anyway,"  he  explained 
drowsily. 

The  next  morning  Lanse  rose  to  a  sober 

1138 


A   WRITER   OF   PLAYS 

realization  of  his  responsibility.  He  swal- 
lowed his  breakfast  obliviously,  one  eye  on 
his  manuscript,  and  was  falling  to  work  with 
harassed  earnestness  when  the  mail  came, 
bringing  a  long  letter  from  his  father. 

It  was  a  dull,  pompous  letter,  and  it  reit- 
erated with  untouched  conviction  all  the  argu- 
ments he  had  answered  so  exhaustively  on 
Sunday;  yet,  back  of  its  chilly  willingness  to 
give  him  "one  more  chance  to  come  to  his 
senses,"  Lanse  divined  the  lonely,  bewildered 
grief  that  had  driven  the  old  man  to  make 
the  advance,  and  his  heart  bled.  Memory  of 
yesterday's  careless  happiness  reproached  and 
shamed  him;  it  was  horrible  to  be  a  father! 
He  wrote  a  long  answer,  going  patiently  over 
the  whole  subject,  then,  feeling  its  futility, 
tore  it  up  and  wrote  instead: 

"I  am  so  sorry.  I  wish  you  could  see  my 
side  as  I  see  yours. 

"Your  affectionate  son,      LANSE/' 

After  he  had  sent  it,  it  seemed  to  him  pa- 
tronizing, and  he  distressed  himself  trying  to 
compose  a  softening  letter  to  follow  it.  The 
morning  was  half  gone  when  he  gave  up  the 
attempt,  and  his  jarred  nerves  made  writing 
so  hopeless  that  he  took  himself  to  a  gymna- 

139 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

sium  in  a  despondent  effort  to  work  the  load 
off  his  mind. 

Nothing  came  to  interrupt  the  third  morn- 
ing's work.  As  a  preparation  for  attacking 
the  second  act,  Lanse  went  through  the  first 
act  aloud,  with  much  dramatic  expression, 
especially  in  the  part  of  the  heavy  mother. 
This  was  so  enjoyable  that  he  did  it  all  over 
again,  on  his  feet  this  time,  moving  R.  F.  or 
L.  C.  as  the  directions  demanded,  and  becom- 
ing a  whole  group  when  the  curtain  fell.  The 
applause  was  so  insistent  that,  after  taking  cur- 
tain calls  for  the  chief  characters — leading 
out  the  heroine  with  graceful  finger  tips  and 
bowing  to  her  as  well  as  to  the  house — he  was 
finally  induced  to  appear  as  the  author,  mak- 
ing a  shy  little  blond  bow  and  ducking  quickly 
back  behind  the  curtains. 

"How  young  he  is!"  said  the  audience.  "A 
mere  boy — to  think  of  his  writing  This!"  And 
cries  of  "Speech!  Speech!"  arose  on  every 
side.  The  modest  author  was  finally  induced 
to  appear  again,  clinging  this  time  to  his  man- 
ager, and  intimating  that  the  latter  was  really 
the  person  to  thank  before  he  again  shrank 
out  of  sight.  The  manager  made  a  few  blunt, 
hearty  remarks  about  everybody's  kindness 

140 


A  WRITER   OF   PLAYS 

and  the  author's  diffidence,  but  still  the  house 
was  not  satisfied.  How  they  thundered! 
Lanse's  heart  quivered  and  his  cold  hands 
shook  as  that  mighty  call  rose  and  broke  into 
cries  again  and  again;  and  then  there  was 
tense  silence,  and  he  stood  alone,  facing  them 
across  a  golden  blur  of  light,  moved,  thrilled, 
soaring,  to  stammer  a  boyish,  "I  thank  you — 
from  my  heart!"  that  should  touch  their  eyes 
with  tears — or  would  it  be  better  to  shoot 
into  them  one  line  of  delicate  wit,  a  perfect, 
rounded  bit  of  audacity?  Lanse  perched  on 
a  chair  arm  to  consider  this;  and  the  solemn 
clock  struck  twelve. 

"Oh,  good  Lord!"  he  muttered,  between 
shame  and  anger.  "Oh,  was  there  ever  such 
a  fool!" 

He  sat  down  savagely  at  the  desk,  but  to 
work  was  like  trying  to  cope  with  roast  beef 
after  a  surfeit  of  candy.  The  dreams  seemed 
to  have  scattered  all  his  powers.  He  tried  at 
intervals  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  then  went 
fretfully  to  keep  a  dinner  engagement,  where 
he  appeared  to  the  young  woman  next  to  him 
as  brilliant,  but  painfully  cynical  and  disil- 
lusioned. 

The  dreams  were  at  him  again  in  the  morn- 
141 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

ing,  but  he  stuffed  his  ears  against  them,  and 
hung  a  towel  over  a  lovely  little  i^th  Cen- 
tury Madonna  who  had  a  way  of  holding  his 
eyes  with  her  brooding  gaze.  He  also  left 
off  his  blue  dressing  gown,  as  too  enjoyable, 
and  refused  to  look  at  his  letters.  Napoleon 
planning  a  campaign  could  not  have  squared 
his  elbows  to  his  task  more  grimly.  At  the 
end  of  two  hours,  Lanse  would  cheerfully 
have  changed  places  with  Napoleon,  dead  or 
alive.  He  wrote,  to  be  sure,  after  an  hour's 
blank  sitting,  wrote  fluently;  then  tore  the 
paper  in  half  and  wrote  again,  and  yet  again. 
His  characters,  so  alive  in  the  first  act,  stiff- 
ened to  puppets  under  his  pen,  and  his  inven- 
tion had  become  as  an  empty  inkwell,  in  which 
he  dipped  in  vain.  His  dream  of  years — per- 
fect freedom  to  do  his  own  work  in  beautiful 
surroundings — was  fulfilled;  but  the  inspira- 
tion that  had  gushed  up  for  stolen  moments  in 
his  stolid  old  home  failed  him.  What  he  wrote 
was  wooden,  dry  in  his  mouth.  The  poig- 
nancy of  stolen  love  was  proverbial;  but  sure- 
ly authorship  need  not  fade  before  the  light 
of  common  day! 

The  next  morning  brought  the  same  experi- 
ence, and  the  next2  and  the  next.     Not  one 

142 


A   WRITER   OF   PLAYS 

phrase  came  with  the  living  glow  upon  it.  It 
did  not  occur  to  Lanse  that,  as  he  had  been 
burning  his  candle  at  both  ends  for  many 
months,  working  hard  all  day  at  the  office 
and  writing  far  into  the  night,  as  well  as  keep- 
ing social  engagements,  this  blankness  was  the 
natural  collapse  of  an  overwrought  nervous 
system  at  release  from  routine.  He  saw  it  as 
a  mockery  designed  by  cruel  gods,  and  girded 
himself  savagely  to  defeat  it.  Coffee  and 
stimulants,  baths  and  athletics,  he  tried  them 
all  in  furious  succession  for  two  dreadful 
weeks,  and  then  at  last,  white  and  haggard,  he 
started  to  take  his  bitter  failure  to  Evelyn. 

Till  the  moment  when  he  paused  before  her 
imposing  home^  he  had  seen  his  plight  only 
from  the  inside,  with  the  dignity  of  tragedy 
upon  it;  here,  looking  on  it  suddenly  with 
outside  eyes,  he  paused,  appalled.  It  was 
funny!  A  young  man,  with  noble  heroics, 
leaves  home  and  wealth,  solemnly  breaking 
with  an  agonized  father,  to  follow  a  career — 
which  flatly  refuses  to  be  followed.  He  saw 
himself  giving  a  mighty  flourish  of  prepara- 
tion, focussing  all  eyes  upon  himself,  then 
stepping  down  in  meek  silence;  and  the  pic- 
ture left  him  red  to  the  ears.  He  could  not 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

show  such  a  mountebank  performance  to  Eve- 
lyn— Evelyn,  who  loved  success  and  distinc- 
tion, who  held  herself  carefully  and  never 
blundered.  He  turned  hastily  away. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  so  he  sent  a  tele- 
gram of  excuse  to  Charlotte  and  hid  in  his 
rooms.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  face  his 
world  again  until  he  could  laugh  over  his 
failure,  and  he  tortured  himself  with  pictures 
of  the  others  shaken  with  genial  or  sardonic 
enjoyment  of  their  mishaps.  After  a  miser- 
able night,  he  wrote  a  note  to  Grenville,  say- 
ing that  the  play  might  not  be  done  "quite  so 
soon  as  he  had  promised  it";  then  fled  to  a 
remote  country  inn  and  spent  three  days  in 
its  chilly  discomfort,  trying  to  starve  his  re- 
luctant spirit  into  laughter.  Motoring  parties 
stopped  there  daily  for  luncheon,  but  he  al- 
ways took  that  meal  with  him  into  the  pine 
wood,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  he  had  the 
place  practically  to  himself.  For  long  hours 
he  lay  in  the  sun  on  the  pine  needles,  passive 
and  wretched.  He  had  lost  his  career;  and 
the  world  expected  him  to  chuckle  over  the 
tale.  He  had  not  even  a  home.  His  friends, 
who  had  valued  him  for  his  talent,  would  not 
want  him  any  longer.  Evelyn,  born  comrade 

144 


A  WRITER   OF  PLAYS 

to  genius  by  her  fiery  ambition  and  her  in- 
flexible ideas,  could  not  waste  her  stirring 
power  on  a  nobody,  and  her  wonderful  friend- 
ship would  grow  dim  and  fade  away.  His 
face,  upturned  recklessly  to  the  sun,  was  drawn 
and  desolate  when  some  one  came  walking 
lightly  over  the  pine  needles. 

"Lanse!"  Evelyn's  amused  smile  vanished 
as  she  saw,  and  she  put  out  both  hands.  "What 
is  it?" 

He  had  started  to  his  feet,  but  before  the 
compassion  of  her  voice,  he  turned  away, 
breathing  so  heavily  that,  in  pity,  she  sank 
down,  her  face  hidden  under  her  drooping 
white  veil,  and  told  him,  with  her  pretty, 
worldly  composure,  how  she  happened  to  be 
motoring  with  her  cousins  and  had  seen  his 
name  on  the  register. 

"So  I  came  out  to  find  you,"  she  concluded. 
"They  said  that  you  always  went  this  way. 
How  is  work?"  she  added,  looking  up  with  a 
smile. 

There  was  no  answering  smile.  *'I  can't 
write,  Evelyn."  His  voice  was  little  more 
than  a  whisper.  "It  is  gone.  I  haven't  writ- 
ten a  word  all  this  time.  Everything  is  per- 
fect for  it,  and  I  can't.  It  is  a  tremendous 

HS 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

joke  on  me — I  can  see  that  as  well  as  any- 
body." He  seated  himself  beside  her  with  a 
courageous  grasp  at  levity.  "You  see,  my 
dear,  I  am  not  the  talented  creature  we  took 
me  for.  We  shall  have  to —  Evelyn,  it  is 
gone.  I  can't  write!  I  can't!" 

"You  poor  boy!"  She  was  looking  at  him 
through  mist,  the  first  he  had  ever  seen  in 
those  cool  blue  eyes;  her  hand  closed  over 
his.  "Why  didn't  you  come  to  me?" 

It  was  so  good,  so  unexpected,  that  he  laid 
his  face  down  on  the  slim  fingers  in  wordless 
relief.  After  a  moment  they  stirred  and  drew 
away.  He  looked  up  to  speak,  but  her  eyes, 
clear  and  cool  again,  ignored  the  incident,  and 
the  defensive  lift  of  her  head  was  a  tacit  com- 
mand. 

"You  look  like  a  ghost,"  she  declared  im- 
patiently. "Of  course  you  could  not  write 
in  strange  surroundings,  after  all  that  had 
happened.  What  does  a  week  or  two  matter? 
To  tear  yourself  up  like  this  simply  because — 
I  really  think^  Lanse,  that  you  have  very  little 
sense!" 

Her  scolding  was  a  healing  and  a  delight. 
"You  think  it  will  come  back?  That  it  is  not 
utterly  gone?."  he  asked  abjectly. 

146 


She  could  scarcely  answer,  for  righteous 
wrath.  "It  is  too  unbelievably  silly,  in  a 
grown  man!"  She  started  to  her  feet.  "Come 
back  to  town  with  us ;  you  have  been  brooding 
here  long  enough.  Of  course  you  will  write, 
Lanse.  Tomorrow,  probably.  Now  come." 

He  followed  her  down  the  winding  path  in 
wordless  relief.  Her  faith  lifted  him,  swung 
him  clear  up  into  the  light  again;  and  that 
glimpse  of  misty  compassion  sent  all  the  veins 
of  spring  running  within  him.  At  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  Evelyn  heard  a  sudden  laugh, 
and  turned  inquiringly. 

"You  know,  Evelyn,  it  really  was  funny," 
he  explained. 

At  ten  o'clock  that  night  Lanse  let  himself 
into  his  rooms.  His  work  lay  as  he  had  left 
it  on  the  desk,  and  he  paused  to  give  it  a 
conquering  glance.  The  spirit  of  it  presently 
caught  him;  he  drew  up  a  chair  with  his 
foot,  and  his  hand  found  a  pencil.  The  sleep- 
ing talent  had  stirred,  had  sent  its  first  thrill- 
ing signal.  Ten  minutes  later,  Lanse  was 
writing  for  dear  life. 

Far  into  the  night  his  talent  labored  for 
him,  and  its  offerings  came  so  thick  and  fast 
that  the  pencil  tripped  and  stumbled,  keeping 

'-147 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

up  with  them.  At  last  they  dwindled  and 
ceased,  but  Lanse  sat  over  his  papers  in  the 
happy  work  of  adjustment  and  arrange- 
ment until  dawn  thrust  a  white  finger  through 
the  curtains. 

Noon  had  passed  before  he  was  sufficiently 
awake  to  look  at  the  letters  that  had  piled  up 
in  his  absence.  There  was  one  from  Gren- 
ville,  and  Lanse  laughed  as  he  remembered 
his  request  for  more  time  on  the  play.  His 
eyes  turned  triumphantly  to  the  pile  of  manu- 
script beside  him  as  he  broke  it  open. 

"Of  course  you  must  not  hurry  our  com- 
edy," Grenville  had  written.  "Take  your  own 
time,  and  be  sure  you  let  me  see  it  when  it  is 
done.  I  am  putting  on  a  new  play  presently, 
a  remarkable  piece  of  work  by  a  new  man,  and 
if  it  runs  as  I  expect  it  to,  I  shall  not  need 
another  for  a  year  at  least — so  perhaps  it 
would  not  be  fair  to  you  to  hold  up  your  play. 
However,  remember  that  I  want  to  see  it.  I 
will  send  you  seats  for  the  new  performance 
— I  think  you  will  be  interested.  You  might 
show  your  comedy  to  Fred  Harrison.  I  be- 
lieve he  wants  something  for  next  autumn. 
Best  wishes  1" 


148 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  MORNING  AND  THE  EVENING. 

TT  was  Evelyn  who  took  the  letter  hardest; 
Lanse  was  grateful  for  her  generous  anger, 
but  could  not  himself  rise  above  dull  depres- 
sion. 

"Actors  always  throw  you  down.  We 
knew  that,"  he  argued,  and  would  have  de- 
fended Grenville's  right  to  take  the  play  he 
liked  best,  without  regard  to  promises,  if  Eve- 
lyn had  not  lost  her  temper  altogether. 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  much  matter,"  he  ex- 
plained sadly.  "I  am  a  wretched  amateur 
in  the  arts,  and  no  practical  good  in  anything 
else.  We  might  as  well  face  it.  Oh,  I  am 
tired  of  nerves  and  brains  and  temperaments, 
I'm  tired  of  civilization.  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  go  back  to  the  people." 

"The  people?"  she  queried. 

He  began  to  walk  excitedly  up  and  down. 
"That  would  be  worth  while,"  he  exclaimed; 
"to  go  out  into  the  city  and  see  what  I  could 

149 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

earn  with  my  two  hands,  like  any  other  la- 
borer. Wouldn't  it  be  interesting!" 

"But  what  can  you  do?" 

"Oh,  cut  grass;  make  nice  little  rake  marks 
on  gravel;  go  about  walking  beside  a  wagon 
full  of  plants  with  a  pot  of  geraniums  under 
each  arm — 'Flowers,  growing  flowers!' '  He 
imitated  the  vender's  cry  in  somewhat  grand 
opera  fashion.  "Think  of  being  out  all  day 
in  this  new  spring  air — in  a  blue  blouse  open 
at  the  throat!" 

She  laughed  at  him.  "You  crazy  person! 
I  wish  I  knew  just  how  much  you  meant." 

"Every  bit  of  it,"  he  declared.  "I  have  to 
earn  my  living,  Evelyn — do  you  realize  that? 
I  shan't  ask  my  father  to  take  me  back,  you 
know;  I'll  starve  first,  thank  you.  My  play 
will  get  finished  some  day,  I  suppose,  but  it 
is  loathesome  to  me  now.  I'm  going  free, 
Evelyn!  I'm  going,  head  first  into  the  city!" 

"You  will  only  bump  your  head,"  she 
warned  him,  but  he  was  too  excited  to  heed. 

Early  the  next  morning  a  puzzled  maid 
summoned  Evelyn  to  the  basement  door.  A 
man  wished  to  see  her.  A  glance  through  the 
iron  gate  showred  her  a  slender  workman  in 
blue  jeans,  a  rough  cap  on  the  back  of  his 


THE    MORNING    AND    THE    EVENING 

smooth  head,  his  open  blouse  showing  an  in- 
congruously white  throat.  She  threw  back 
the  gate  with  a  startled  laugh. 

"Lanse!"  she  exclaimed. 

"How  do  I  look?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"Quite  beautiful.  Really,  you  ought  never 
to  wear  anything  else!" 

He  glowed  with  satisfaction,  though  he 
made  a  decent  attempt  to  hide  it. 

"I  doubt  if  I  ever  do/'  he  said.  "I'm  going 
out  to  find  the  people.  Oh,  they  are  the  real 
thing,  Evelyn.  All  our  hypercivilized  ideas 
are  an  abomination  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord. 
I'm  going  back  to  the  soil.  To  eat  and  work 
and  sleep — that  is  the  true  life.  Do  you  think 
my  blouse  looks  too  sillVj  unfastened  like 
that?" 

"No;  I  like  it.  Muss  your  hair  a  little — 
it  is  too  well  groomed.  That  is  better.  .What 
shall  you  do  first?" 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  care.  Evelyn,  come 
with  me!" 

"Certainly  not!" 

"Donna  would." 

"Very  well,  then  invite  Donna." 

"You  have  no  adventure  in  your  soul." 

"I  am  entirely  satisfied  with  the  class  of 
1511 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

life  into  which  I  was  born,  thank  you.  When 
you  have  had  enough  of  the  people,  come  and 
tell  me  about  it." 

"I  shall  have  to  come  to  the  basement  en^ 
trance.  Will  you  hand  me  out  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee now  and  then?" 

"The  American  ToUtoi,"  derisively. 
"Twenty-four  hours  will  ^ure  you,  my  dear 
Lanse."  And  she  closed  the  gate  between 
them. 

It  was  a  wonderful  morning.  The  shim- 
mering spring  sunlight  lent  a  castled  beauty 
to  the  stately  vistas  of  brick  and  stone;  but 
it  lay  like  an  enchantment  on  the  more  squalid 
streets  to  which  Lanse  turned.  A  red  blanket 
on  a  fire  escape  became  a  flaming  banner,  a 
vegetable  peddler's  cart  bloomed  into  a  mov- 
ing garden,  the  cries  of  venders  and  of  chil- 
dren rang  silver  sweet  on  his  expanding  senses. 
The  charm  of  dimly  remembered  foreign 
cities  lay  on  the  huddled  tenements,  mingled 
with  a  fairy  suggestion  of  gnomes  and  brown 
witches  and  golden-haired  changelings  as  he 
made  his  way  buoyantly  down  the  crowded 
sidewalks.  The  beautiful,  kindly,  simple- 
hearted  People!  He  began  to  sing  in  his 
clear,  high  tenor,  "Santa  Lucia,"  and  Little 

152 


THE    MORNING    AND    THE    EVENING 

Italy  smiled  at  him  and  threw  him  rippling 
compliments.  Oh,  the  freedom  of  it,  the  joy 
of  the  young  day! 

As  he  shook  out  his  final  "Lu — ci — a!"  a 
familiar  voice  laughed  a  "Bravo,  signer!"  and 
a  penny  fell  at  his  feet.  Donna  stood  on  the 
scrubbed  steps  of  a  social  settlement,  shaken 
with  amused  understanding.  He  waved  his 
cap  in  eager  welcome  as  she  came  down  to 
join  him. 

"I  don't  ever  want  to  die,  do  you?"  he  burst 
out.  "I  want  to  live  to  be  a  hundred,  and  then 
begin  all  over  again." 

"Make  it  two  hundred,"  said  Donna,  and 
they  laughed  gloriously.  "What  does  this 
mean?" 

"I'm  looking  for  a  job,"  was  the  blithe  an- 
swer. "I  have  done  with  civilization,  Donna; 
I'm  going  back  to  the  people." 

"Oh,  what  fun!"  Her  radiant  appreciation 
of  the  adventure  sent  his  spirits  higher  than 
ever. 

"Come  with  me!" 

"If  I  only  could!"  Their  excited  eyes  met; 
then  she  glanced  down  at  her  incongruous 
clothes. 

"I  dare  you,"  said  Lanse. 

153 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Wait  five  minutes,"  she  commanded,  and 
ran  back  into  the  settlement.  In  less  than  ten 
she  reappeared,  transformed  into  a  self  re- 
specting working  girl  by  a  faded  suit,  care- 
fully repaired,  and  a  poverty  stricken  little 
hat.  Several  amused  faces  were  watching 
from  an  upper  window. 

"I  may  get  a  story  out  of  it,"  Donna  ex- 
plained, in  tacit  apology  to  the  morning's  work 
she  was  dropping.  "I  don't  care  if  I  don't," 
she  added  recklessly.  "Isn't  this  good!" 

The  sunshine  was  brimming  in  the  streets 
as  the  two  went  down  them,  feeling  very  gay 
and  very  kind  to  all  the  world.  A  policeman 
looked  at  them  oddly,  and  even  followed  them 
a  little  way,  to  their  vast  delight.  They  of- 
fered friendly  good  mornings  to  several  la- 
borers in  the  fullness  of  their  hearts,  but  the 
replies  were  curt  and  somewhat  suspicious. 
This  was  dampening.  They  studied  their  re- 
flections in  a  shop  window  to  find  the  reason. 

"It  is  my  collar  and  necktie,"  she  finally  de- 
cided. "They  are  off  the  key.  .What  can  I 
do?" 

Lanse  pulled  a  brilliant  bandanna  hand- 
kerchief out  of  his  blouse  pocket. 

"Tie  this  round  instead/'  he  suggested,    "It 

'54 


THE    MORNING    AND    THE    EVENING 

was  to  mop  the  toil  from  my  brow,  but  I  can 
use  my  sleeve." 

The  handkerchief  evidently  was  the  needed 
element.  The  next  laborer  they  accosted  gave 
them  a  jovial  "Hello,  mates,"  as  he  passed. 

"Wasn't  he  dear?"  said  Donna  warmly. 
"And  he  had  such  nice  eyes.  Did  you  notice, 
Lanse?" 

"Urn,"  he  returned.  "Look,  that's  a  pretty 
girl.  Did  you  ever  see  such  glorious  red 
hair?" 

"Now  we're  even,"  suggested  Donna;  and 
they  laughed  out  in  enjoyment  of  their  own 
transparency.  Lanse  stretched  his  arms  up 
over  his  head. 

"This  is  living,"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is 
real  freedom.  We  are  where  we  belong.  Oh, 
the  days  I've  wasted  in  that  stuffy  office  I" 

"And  the  days  I've  spent  in  shopping  and 
puttering,"  she  echoed.  "And  never  speak- 
ing to  a  human  soul  I  wasn't  introduced  to 
first!  Isn't  it  wicked  nonsense?" 

"And  aren't  we  wonderful  to  have  found  it 
out?"  Lanse  went  on.  "We  might  have  rot- 
ted in  artificiality  all  our  lives.  Oh,  simplicity 
is  the  real  thing — the  big,  kind,  warm  peo- 
ple!" And  Lanse  was  so  inspired  by  his  sub- 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

ject  that  he  walked  into  a  vaguely  ambling 
baby,  which  promptly  tipped  over  and 
howled. 

He  was  down  beside  it  on  the  instant, 
wrung  with  remorse.  "Oh,  poor  little  brute! 
I  must  have  hurt  it.  What  shall  I  do?  Donna, 
kiss  it  or  something!" 

He  was  so  distressed  and  so  helpless  that 
Donna's  eyes  brimmed  over  with  laughter. 
She  restored  the  outraged  baby  to  its  frowzy 
mother,  with  earnest  apologies. 

"Law,  honey,  you  didn't  hurt  him  none," 
was  the  amiable  response.  "Don't  mind  his 
row — he'll  shut  up  in  a  minute." 

"There!  What  did  I  tell  you?"  exclaimed 
Lanse  as  they  went  on.  "A  polite  person 
would  have  caught  up  her  darling  and  glared 
at  us.  She'd  have  made  us  as  uncomfortable 
as  she  could.  I  tell  you,  it  is  the  people  who 
have  the  true  courtesy!  I  never  intend  to  go 
back.  How  would  you  earn  your  living,  if 
you  were  I?" 

"We  can  find  the  best  way  from  the  people 
themselves,"  she  suggested.  "Let's  talk  to 
that  lovely  peanut  man." 

They  broke  the  ice  with  a  five  cent  purchase 
and  a  comment  on  the  weather,  and  then  in- 


THE    MORNING   AND    THE    EVENING 

quired  into  the  state  of  the  peanut  market. 
The  little  Dago  proved  pessimistic,  but  ad- 
mitted that  a  living  could  be  made  behind  the 
push  cart. 

"If  your  vife  no  spend  motch,"  he  added, 
with  a  twinkling  glance  at  Donna.  The  two 
laughed  so  that  he  became  elated  at  his  own 
wit.  "If  she  vant  earrings,  silg  dress" — an  ex- 
pressive shrug — "no  can  sell  peanut."  And 
he  smiled  on  them  genially. 

"Oh,  I  keep  her  in  order,"  said  Lanse.  "I'd 
like  to  see  what  I  could  make  at  it.  Why 
won't  you  rent  me  your  cart  for  an  hour?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  exclaimed  Donna. 

The  Italian  hesitated  at  first,  but  the  offer 
of  a  dollar  down  as  well  as  all  the  money  they 
took  in  finally  persuaded  him.  The  corner 
bootblack  witnessed  the  bargain,  and  they 
trundled  off  with  their  new  possession,  speech- 
lessly happy.  A  dingy  side  street  promised 
less  custom,  but  it  was  out  from  under  the  roar 
of  the  elevated. 

"And  we  don't  care  about  getting  rich  fast," 
Donna  declared.  "I  choose  to  grind  it,  Lanse. 
You  can  do  the  selling.  The  idea  of  that  lit- 
tle Italian  trusting  us  like  this!  Don't  you 
think  it  showed  an  awfully  nice  nature ?," 

157 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

"Why,  it's  the  people  that  are  really  fine," 
Lanse  returned.  "They  trust  and  believe  in 
each  other.  They  have  the  hearts,  Donna. 
They're  as  different  from  our  class  as  sunshine 
is  from  electric  light.  I  wish  I  had  that  old 
fellow's  earrings!  Don't  you  think  they'd  be 
effective?" 

"Oh,  this  is  going  to  make  us  such  good 
friends,"  she  exclaimed  irrelevantly.  "You  and 
I  have  never  known  each  other  like  this  before, 
Lanse :  we  have  only  been  friends  in  general. 
Now  we  shall  be  friends  in  particular.  I 
think,  you  know,  that  we  are  the  only  two  of 
iUs  who  would  have  done  just  this." 

"Evelyn  wouldn't,"  he  admitted,  smiling  to 
himself  at  a  vision  of  Evelyn's  pretty,  fastidi- 
ous presence. 

"Lorrimer  would  scorn  us,"  said  Donna. 

Their  first  customer  appeared  at  that  mo- 
ment, a  half  grown  boy  who  requested  five 
cents'  worth  and  offered  a  quarter  in  payment. 
Donna  gave  him  extra  measure  while  Lanse 
made  change,  and  they  both  tried  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  him,  but  he  was  reticent  and 
disappeared  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"Poor  fellow — he  was  shy,"  said  Donna. 

•158 


THE    MORNING   AND    THE    EVENING 

"They  don't  quite  trust  us,  Lanse.  They  feel 
we're  different." 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  they  do,"  said  Lanse,  a 
peculiar  expression  coming  over  his  face. 
"Does  this  quarter  look  quite  right  to  you?" 

She  tried  to  think  it  did,  but  it  was  fla- 
grantly, unmistakably  lead.  They  both  were 
disconcerted  for  a  moment;  then  they  laughed. 

"The  little  beast!"  she  commented. 

Several  sales  of  the  penny  order  followed,  at 
long  intervals ;  then  three  very  dirty  little  girls 
came  and  stood  wistfully  in  front  of  them, 
staring  at  the  cart.  They  bore  it  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  then  Lanse  drove  his  scoop  into 
the  nuts  with  an  irritated  movement. 

"I  can't  stand  that,"  he  apologized  to  his 
partner.  "Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  get  rid  of 
them?"  Three  shrill  "Thank  you,  sirs,"  went 
up,  and  the  trio  trotted  oft,  the  oldest  one 
clasping  the  bag. 

"That  was  fun,"  said  Donna,  smiling  after 
them. 

"Probably  it  never  happened  to  them  be- 
fore," added  Lanse.  "We  must  seem  like 
fairy  godmothers  to  them.  I  suppose  they'll 
put  us  in  their  funny  little  prayers — 'Bless  the 

159 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

kind  people  who  gave  us  the  peanuts.'     Well, 
look  at  that!" 

A  swarm  of  children  was  coming  from  the 
direction  the  three  little  girls  had  taken.  They 
seemed  to  multiply  by  some  invisible  process 
as  they  approached — ragged  boys,  wizened 
little  girls,  babies  in  carts  and  in  arms  and  on 
unsteady,  bowed  legs,  a  noisy  rabble  whose 
watchword  seemed  to  be  an  excited  "There  he 
is!" 

They  drew  near,  hesitated,  halted.  Then  a 
little  girl  of  the  order  "sassy"  stepped  forward. 

"Mister,  will  you  give  us  some,  like  you  did 
Mamie?"  she  asked  with  easy  assurance. 

"Indeed  I  won't,"  said  Lanse  indignantly. 
"I'll  sell  you  all  you  like." 

"Aw,  give  us  just  one,  just  a  handful,"  they 
clamored,  and  several  came  alarmingly  close. 
"Lets  take  'em,  fellers,"  suggested  one  of  the 
boys. 

"Say,  get  out  of  here,"  said  Lanse  sharply. 
A  dirty  fist  went  out  towards  the  feast,  and 
Donna  gave  a  gasp  of  fright  as  Lanse  stepped 
forward.  Several  youngsters  slipped  round 
to  the  other  side  of  the  cart,  hoping  to  profit 
by  a  scrimmage. 

At  that  critical  moment  a  rough  voice  of 
160 


THE    MORNING   AND    THE    EVENING 

authority  sounded:  "Here,  what's  all  this?" 
The  children  fled  like  rabbits  before  the  offi- 
cial brass  buttons.  The  officer  turned  scowl- 
ing to  Lanse. 

"You  can't  block  up  a  whole  street  here," 
he  said  shortly.  "Move  on!"  An  angry 
color  rose  in  Lanse's  face. 

"It  wasn't  our  fault,  the  little  brutes " 

"Here,  don't  gab.     Move  on,  I  tell  youl" 

Lanse  controlled  himself  with  a  mighty 
effort. 

"Have  you  any  choice  where  we  should 
move  on  to?"  he  asked  with  ironical  polite- 
ness. The  answer  was  explicit,  but  not  quot- 
able; and  the  guardian  of  the  law  strolled  off, 
swinging  his  baton.  Lanse's  hands  were 
trembling,  and  there  were  tears  of  rage  in  his 
eyes.  He  savagely  took  hold  of  the  cart  and 
started  off  with  it,  Donna  following  meekly 
behind,  afraid  to  speak.  He  led  the  way  back 
to  the  corner  where  they  had  left  their  Italian 
friend. 

"I  think  we  have  had  about  enough  of  this, 
don't  you?"  he  asked  with  an  evident  effort 

"Yes,  I'm  tired,"  she  answered.  He  looked 
at  her  remorsefully. 

161 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

"You  must  be/'  he  said.  "We'll  give  this 
back  and  go  home." 

But  giving  the  push-cart  back  was  not  so 
simple  a  matter.  The  Italian  was  not  to  be 
found  on  the  corner,  nor  on  any  of  the  neigh- 
boring corners,  and  no  one  knew  anything 
about  him.  They  wandered  about  forlornly. 
Their  feet  were  very  tired,  and  the  glory  had 
suddenly  gone  out  of  the  day.  Lanse's  throat 
was  beginning  to  throb  and  ache,  thanks  to  the 
open  blouse,  and  they  both  vaguely  realized 
that  they  would  never  again  eat  peanuts  with 
enjoyment. 

"Oh,  let's  leave  the  thing  and  go,"  Donna 
was  beginning,  when  an  excited  voice  accosted 
them.  The  little  Italian  was  bearing  down 
on  them  with  anger  in  his  gestures  and  unde- 
niable whisky  in  his  gait.  The  dollar  had 
done  its  deadly  work.  Beside  him  walked 
the  policeman  of  their  recent  adventure.  The 
Italian  took  his  stand  by  the  cart  and  looked 
at  them  dramatically  over  folded  arms. 

"Steala  da  push-gart — off  hard  ou-ork 
man!"  he  said  sternly. 

"We  didn't  steal  your  old  push-cart,"  said 
Lanse  angrily.  "You  rented  it  to  us  for  an 

162 


hour,  and  we've  been  waiting  here  for  ages  to 
give  it  back  to  you." 

"I  ou-ait  on  corner!  No  come,  no  come!" 
And  he  shielded  his  eyes  Sister  Anne  fashion 
and  peered  down  the  street,  then  dropped  his 
arms  despairingly. 

"Well,  you  waited  on  the  wrong  corner, 
then,"  declared  Lanse.  "Here's  your  money 
and  here's  your  cart." 

"See  here,"  interposed  the  policeman,  "I 
think  you'd  better  come  up  to  the  station  and 
get  this  straightened  out.  The  Dago  says  you 
stole " 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  Sheehan,"  interposed  the 
bootblack,  who,  together  with  some  fifty 
others,  was  listening  with  intense  enjoyment. 
"I  saw  old  peanuts  rent  the  cart  and  take  the 
dollar.  He'll  remember  when  he's  sober." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  the  officer  with  evi- 
dent reluctance.  "You  may  be  just  a  crank, 
but  I  don't  like  your  looks,"  he  added  dispas- 
sionately, turning  to  Lanse.  "You'd  better  be 
careful." 

"I'll  trouble  you  for  your  name,"  said 
Lanse,  suspiciously  calm.  Donna  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"Lanse,"  she  whispered  tremulously,  "please 
163 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

come  right  away."  He  bit  his  lips,  then 
turned  and  walked  off  with  her. 

"It  was  dreadful  for  you.  I  am  so  sorry," 
he  said,  his  voice  still  stiff  with  anger.  Then, 
as  he  saw  her  face,  his  tone  changed.  "Sup- 
pose we  go  and  get  something  to  eat,"  he  pro- 
posed more  cheerfully.  "It's  past  luncheon 
time.  We  will  find  a  decent  cup  of  tea,  any 
way.  You  won't  mind  if  the  place  is  rather 
horrid,  will  you?" 

They  studied  the  outside  of  several  little 
chop  houses  and  restaurants,  and  finally  fixed 
on  one  that  seemed  slightly  better  class  than 
the  rest. 

"I  think  we  can  stand  it,  don't  you?"  he 
asked,  pushing  open  the  door  for  her. 

"Why,  this  really  isn't  bad,"  she  said,  try- 
ing not  to  shrink  from  the  odors  that  met  them. 
As  they  moved  towards  a  table,  a  young  wom- 
an stopped  them. 

"Sorry,"  she  said  curtly,  with  a  glance  at 
Lanse's  blue  jeans,  "but  we  don't  serve  labor- 
ers here.  You'll  have  to  go  somewheres  else." 
And  she  turned  away  before  they  could  speak. 
TWTO  young  girls  at  a  neighboring  table  gig- 
gled. 

They  walked  quietly  out.  "I  think  we  had 
164 


THE    MORNING    AND    THE    EVENING 

better  just  go  home,"  said  Donna.  "I  believe 
I've  had  enough  of  the  people  for  one  day." 

"Damn  the  people!"  said  Lanse  under  his 
breath. 

"Shall  we  take  a  car?"  Donna  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"How  can  I,  in  these  clothes?"  he  demand- 
ed. "It  would  be  pleasant  to  meet  people  I 
knewl" 

"It  wasn't  my  fault  you  dressed  up,"  she  re- 
turned. "I  feel  quite  as  ridiculous  as  you  do." 

"If  you  will  wait,  I  will  try  to  find  a  han- 
som," Lanse  said  distinctly,  after  a  pause. 

"Oh,  I  would  rather  walk.  It  will  be 
quicker,"  she  returned.  And  not  another 
word  passed  between  them  until  he  left  her  at 
the  settlement. 

The  adventure  was  over,  the  joy  of  the 
morning  dead.  Lanse  found  a  lowly  eating 
house  where  laborers  were  not  discriminated 
against,  and  fell  into  despondent  meditation 
over  a  cup  of  very  bad  coffee.  The  spoon, 
though  clean,  showed  brown  tracts  where  the 
plating  had  worn  off,  and  he  laid  it  aside  with 
a  frown.  The  very  sight  of  the  butter  served 
with  his  bread  was  an  offense,  and  he  put  it 
far  from  him,  then  bent  his  thoughts  firmly  on 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

his  Tolstoian  ideal.  But  the  way  to  its  reali- 
zation was  hard  to  find.  The  simple  dignity 
and  honest  weariness  of  bodily  labor  had 
seemed  a  glorious  exchange  for  the  complex 
miseries  of  an  artist's  career — but  how  could 
one  work  out  the  details  when  the  man  oppo- 
site was  eating  so  like  a  pig?  Perhaps  it  was 
only  in  the  country  that  a  return  to  the  people 
was  feasible;  perhaps,  if  he  finished  that  hor- 
rible play,  some  one  would  buy  it,  after  all. 
If  no  one  would 

"Well,  one  can  always  put  an  end  to  one- 
self," he  concluded,  rising  wearily.  "I'd  do 
that  before  I  would  ask  to  go  backl" 

The  way  to  his  bachelor  quarters  lay  past 
his  own  home^  but  he  did  not  think  of  that 
until  he  turned  the  familiar  corner.  Then  an 
unexpected  pang  assailed  him.  The  beautiful 
apartment  to  which  he  had  fallen  heir  seemed 
suddenly  empty  and  forlorn,  and  he  wanted 
the  ugly  room  in  which  he  had  been  a  little 
boy,  and  the  kind  old  face  of  Molly,  who  had 
scolded  and  loved  and  served  him  for  twenty- 
seven  years,  and  the  quiet  and  stability  of  the 
big,  plain  house  which,  for  all  its  lack  of 
charm,  was  still  home.  He  drew  near  it  slow- 


THE    MORNING    AND    THE    EVENING 

ly,  then  abruptly  stopped  as  his  father  opened 
the  door  and  came  down  the  steps. 

Lanse  had  not  realized  that  he  was  so  old  a 
man.  His  walk  had  grown  less  certain,  and 
he  did  not  hold  his  head  as  he  used  to.  He 
passed  within  three  feet  of  his  son,  whose 
workman's  clothes  hid  him  as  securely  as  an 
invisible  cloak,  and  something  in  his  face 
shocked  Lanse  into  sudden,  intolerable  pain. 

He  let  himself  into  the  house  and,  slipping 
up  to  his  own  room,  changed  the  blue  jeans 
for  an  old  dressing  gown,  then  called  for 
Molly,  who  fussed  over  him  rejoicingly, 
brought  him  luncheon,  and  grew  excited  over 
the  state  of  his  throat.  When  she  had  dosed 
and  cold-compressed  him  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent, he  lay  down  in  the  library  to  await  his 
father's  return.  He  had  no  plan  of  action; 
pride  and  vanity  had  both  gone  down  before 
the  ache  in  his  heart.  He  expected  to  wait 
in  sorrowful  patience;  but,  when  Molly 
peered  in  at  him,  fifteen  minutes  later,  he  was 
heavily  asleep. 

When  he  awoke,  the  room  was  nearly  dark. 
In  the  big  chair  facing  him  he  could  just  make 
out  the  outline  of  an  old  man,  his  head  resting 
on  his  hand  as  if  he  were  very  tired, 

1167 


THE   TOP  OF   THE    MORNING 

Lanse  lifted  himself  on  one  elbow.  In  a 
flash  of  revelation,  it  came  to  him  that  a  com- 
passionate prodigal  might  deepen  his  own 
abasement,  in  order  that  the  lonely  father 
should  have  the  full  joy  of  raising  him  up. 

"Grenville  has  thrown  me  over,  father,"  he 

began.  "My  career  seems  to  have "  His 

voice  faltered. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  the  old 
man  lifted  his  head. 

lil  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be  sick,  Lanse," 
he  said.  "I  shall  need  you  down  at  the  office." 

"Oh,  no;  it's  just  a  sore  throat,"  answered 
Lanse. 


K68 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAUL  AND  VIOLA. 

TAEEP  peace  brooded  over  Little  Manasset 
Pond.  Back  in  the  city  where  the  heat 
and  glare  had  suddenly  grown  intolerable,  the 
dust  was  settling  undisturbed  on  Donna's  type- 
writer and  on  Charlotte's  easel  and  on  the 
sheeted  mound  that  was  to  be  Paul's  next 
statue.  In  the  green  depths  of  Little  Manas- 
set,  the  fever  and  the  distress  of  work  seemed 
infinitely  remote. 

"Like  something  that  used  to  happen  before 
we  died  and  went  to  heaven,"  Donna  said, 
stretching  out  luxuriously  in  the  long  grass. 
She  and  Charlotte  were  lounging  on  the  bank 
above  the  pond,  with  books  they  were  not 
reading.  Further  down,  where  the  brook 
ran  out,  Paul  was  on  his  knees,  playing  at  dam 
building  with  a  thin,  ragged  little  girl,  solemn 
with  excitement.  Cameron,  bare-footed  as 
well  as  bareheaded,  rowed  about  near  the 
shore,  shouting  occasional  comments  and  ques- 
tions to  which  no  one  paid  the  least  attention. 

169 


"Mother,  I'm  lonely,"  he  finally  insisted. 
"Won't  you  go  rowing  with  me?" 

"By  and  by,  Cameron,"  called  Charlotte. 
"You  mustn't  interrupt  me  now — I  am  telling 
Donna  a  wicked  story." 

Her  words  had  a  disconcerting  effect.  Paul 
threw  down  his  stones  and  tore  madly  along 
the  bank,  while  Cameron,  dropping  his  oars, 
leaped  \vith  a  howl  into  the  water  and  came 
thrashing  and  galloping  to  shore. 

"Well?"  they  demanded,  flinging  them- 
selves down  on  either  side  of  her. 

"Idiots!"  she  commented,  helpless  with 
laughter. 

"If  three  days  of  Little  Manasset  brings 
them  to  that  stage,  what  will  a  week  do?" 
Donna  wondered,  drawing  her  white  skirt  far- 
ther from  Cameron's  dripping  presence. 

"I  have  to  have  something  to  offset  Vy-ola," 
Paul  complained,  rolling  over  on  his  back 
with  his  hands  under  his  head.  "Is  she  look- 
ing wistful,  Charlotte?  If  she  is,  I  will  go 
back;  but,  I  give  you  my  word,  I  ache  from 
head  to  foot.  I  have  worked  like  a  dog." 

"She  is  all  right,  and  quite  happy;"  there 
was  a  note  of  protest  in  Charlotte's  voice. 
"Why  do  you  make  such  a  slave  of  yourself, 

170 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

Paul?     She  will  fasten  on  you  so  that  you 
won't  have  a  moment's  peace." 

"But  she  is  such  a  miserable  little  brute," 
he  apologized ;  "she  doesn't  even  know  how  to 
play.  And  when  her  father  is  drunk,  she 
sleeps  under  her  bed,  she  is  so  afraid.  She 
has  never  had  anything  pink  in  her  life — she 
found  a  blue  ribbon  once,  but  she  never  found 
a  pink  one.  She  doesn't  remember  her 
mother,  or  know  whether  she's  ten  or  eleven, 
and  she  has  never  heard  of  London  Bridge  or 
jackstones  or — oh,  Lord!"  And  Paul  struck 
the  ground  with  his  closed  fist. 

"I  know,"  said  Charlotte  slowly  after  a 
pause.  "But  we  can't  carry  the  whole  world ; 
and  you  will  leave  her  far  more  forlorn  than 
you  found  her,  if  you  are  not  careful." 

"Yes;  there  is  that,"  he  admitted.  "And  I 
will  be  careful.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it's 
better  to  have  had  even  three  or  four  good 
days  than  none  at  all  to  remember." 

"And  then,  it  is  so  picturesque,"  put  in 
Cameron;  "beautiful  young  sculptor  shining 
down  on  homely  little  kid,  while  a  small  but 

appreciative "     He  had  wisely  gathered 

his  feet  up  under  him  as  he  spoke;  and  at  that 

171 


THE   TOP   OF.  THE   MORNING 

moment  he  needed  them.  A  dexterous  leap 
backwards  was  all  that  saved  him. 

"You  will  be  picturesque  by  the  time  I'm 
done  with  you,"  Paul  muttered,  scrambling  to 
his  feet,  and  they  were  off,  dodging  and  twist- 
ing among  the  trees.  Presently  the  pursuit 
ended  in  sounds  of  scuffling  and  loud  howls 
for  mercy  from  Cameron.  His  mother  and 
Donna  exchanged  smiles  with  perfect  under- 
standing of  what  was  in  the  other's  thoughts. 

"I  think  that  little  pink  blouse  of  mine 
could  be  cut  down  to  fit  her,"  Donna  added  as 
a  natural  corollary. 

"I  am  sure  I  have  some  ribbons,"  Charlotte 
assented. 

Nevertheless,  they  were  secretly  a  little  re- 
sentful when  Paul  proposed  that  Viola  should 
go  with  them  on  their  drive  the  next  afternoon. 
They  were  planning  to  carry  their  tea  things 
to  a  fabulously  pretty  glen  they  had  discov- 
ered. 

"She  won't  be  any  trouble,  and  it  would  be 
heaven  to  her,"  he  urged.  "You  wouldn't 
mind,  would  you?" 

Of  course  they  declared  that  they  would 
not. 

"After  all,  it  is  just  that  quality  in  Paul  that 
172 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

makes  him  so  wonderful  to  us,"  Charlotte  ad- 
mitted, as  she  and  Donna  went  upstairs  for 
their  hats.  "We  have  no  right  to  complain 
if  we  sometimes  lose  by  it."  Donna  turned 
to  her  room  without  answering. 

They  were  very  friendly  to  the  little  girl 
when  she  appeared  in  a  tattered  gingham  that 
was  making  a  brave  attempt  to  look  as  if  a 
grown  person  had  done  it  up.  She  sat  be- 
tween Paul  and  Charlotte  on  the  front  seat, 
breathlessly  still,  except  once,  when  Charlotte 
insisted  on  taking  the  reins  during  a  bad 
stretch  of  road. 

"For  really,  Paul,  you  drive  worse  than  any 
one  I  ever  knew — not  even  excepting  Donna," 
she  declared.  "If  you  ever  looked  at  the 
horse,  you  might  do  a  little  better — but  not 
very  much!" 

Viola  drew  away  from  her,  and,  looking  up 
anxiously,  laid  a  consoling  little  hand  on 
Paul's  arm.  He  smiled  down  at  her. 

"Isn't  she  mean  to  me,  Viola!"  he  said.  "You 
know  I  could  drive  if  I  tried?  don't  you?" 

"You  could  do  anything,"  said  Viola,  like 
one  stating  an  obvious  fact  that  needs  no  em- 
phasis. Cameron  groaned  softly  from  the 
back  seat. 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

"Oh,  my,  another!"  he  murmured.  Paul 
gave  him  a  look  of  slow  contempt,  then  turned 
back  with  raised  eyebrows,  as  from  something 
not  worth  crushing.  Donna  wisely  made  a 
diversion. 

"Do  keep  the  reins  till  we  pass  that  wagon, 
Charlotte,"  she  urged.  "Paul  always — what 
is  it?"  she  broke  off,  for  Viola,  after  one  glance 
at  the  wagon  approaching,  had  dived  down 
under  the  seat.  Paul,  taking  it  for  a  joke, 
leaned  down  to  laugh  at  her,  but  she  laid  her 
finger  on  her  lips  with  such  distress  in  her  pale 
little  face  that  he  drew  back  without  speaking. 
The  wagon,  a  rattletrap  affair,  careened  to  one 
side  with  the  weight  of  its  driver,  who  turned 
a  coarse  red  face  upon  them  and  pulled  up  his 
horse  as  though  half  intending  to  accost  them. 
But  Charlotte,  not  liking  his  aspect,  hurried 
on,  leaving  him  scowling  after  them. 

"What  a  beast,"  she  commented.  "I  don't 
wonder  Viola  was  frightened." 

The  child  would  not  come  out  until  they 
reached  the  place  where  they  were  to  boil  their 
kettle,  and  had  only  a  difficult  smile  for  Cam- 
eron's teasing.  Paul  eyed  her  curiously,  and 
devoted  himself  to  raising  her  spirits  with  a 
new  and  exciting  species  of  Follow  My  Lead- 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

er.  She  was  easily  diverted,  and  followed  with 
painstaking  minuteness,  a  serious,  awkward 
little  figure,  with  nothing  to  show  the  joy 
within  but  her  eager  docility.  When  Paul 
dropped  down,  breathless,  and  declared  the 
game  over,  she  sat  contentedly  at  his  feet, 
frankly  ignoring  everyone  else.  Paul  watched 
her  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"Viola,"  he  began,  when  the  others  were 
out  of  hearing,  "why  didn't  you  want  that 
man  to  see  you?" 

Color  rose  to  her  face,  and  she  looked  away 
without  answering.  "Was  he  your  father?" 
Paul  went  on.  She  nodded. 

"And  you  were  afraid  he  would  not  want 
you  to  go  with  us?" 

She  glanced  nervously  through  the  trees 
about  them,  and  then  at  the  overhanging  bank 
above,  shrinking  a  little  closer  to  him. 

"He  don't  want  me  to  speak  to  anybody," 
she  said,  half  under  her  breath. 

"But  why  not?" 

She  met  this  as  she  always  met  any  direct 
question  about  her  home — with  a  look  of  stub- 
born, fear-imposed  silence. 

"Surely  he  is  willing  you  should  have  what 
fun  you  can — nice  fun,  like  this,"  he  pursued2 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

determined  to  know  how  things  stood  with 
this  hampered,  unprepossessing  waif  of  des- 
tiny. The  child  struggled  with  her  reluc- 
tance for  a  moment,  then  leaned  towards 
him. 

"He  just  wishes  I  was  dead,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  on  a  braid  of  grasses,  "and  I  wish  he  was." 
Her  tone  was  entirely  commonplace,  but  for 
its  cautious  lowering.  Paul  sat  up  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  you  don't  mean  that," 
he  exclaimed.  She  nodded  emphatically. 

"He  was  in  prison  a  whole  year  once,  and 
when  he  got  out,  I  cried  and  cried,"  she  said, 
in  proof  of  her  sincerity.  "Sometimes  I  think, 
if  he  don't  die  pretty  soon,  I'll  just  kill  my- 
self. I  think  of  it  a  lot,"  she  added,  lifting 
her  expressionless  little  grey  eyes  to  his  face 
for  a  moment,  like  one  confiding  a  cherished 
secret. 

"But,  Viola,  you  must  not  have  such 
thoughts,"  said  Paul  vigorously.  "It's 
wrong — it's  wicked:  don't  you  know  that?" 
He  was  conscious  of  being  flatly  common- 
place, quite  without  adequate  reasons  that 
would  reach  her.  Viola,  feeling  his  distress, 
offered  consolation. 

176 


"Maybe  they  will  get  him  into  jail  again,1' 
she  suggested. 

"But  why  should  he  go  to  jail?  What  does 
he  do?"  Paul  asked,  dropping  the  ethics  of  the 
question.  The  cautious  mask  fell  over  her 
face.  She  dropped  her  eyes  and  said  noth- 
ing. "Has  he  a  trade,  a  business?"  he  went 
on,  to  bridge  the  pause,  but  her  face  only  be- 
came more  stubbornly  set,  though  her  chest 
rose  and  fell  with  the  effort  of  her  silence. 
"My  dear,  I  didn't  mean  to  ask  questions  that 
you  don't  want  to  answer:  I  was  only  trying 
to  find  a  way  to  help  you,"  he  apologized. 
Her  mouth  quivered  and  relaxed,  and  she 
caught  her  breath  with  a  sudden  impulse,  but 
at  that  moment  a  slight  rustling  sounded  from 
the  bank  above  their  heads.  She  started  to 
her  feet  without  a  sound  and  dragged  at  his 
arm  to  make  him  follow,  such  terror  in  her 
face  that  he  caught  a  little  of  it,  and  let  her 
pilot  him  in  a  roundabout  way  through  the 
trees  to  the  spot  where  the  others  were  making 
tea. 

"A  toad  jumped  in  the  grass  above  our 
heads  and  frightened  us  to  death,"  he  laughed, 
clutching  at  the  normal,  humorous  point  of 
view  to  explain  their  abrupt  appearance. 

177 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

Viola  neither  acquiesced  nor  denied.  She 
was  soon  apparently  quite  happy  over  her 
bread  and  butter  and  cambric  tea;  but  she 
would  not  again  go  near  the  bluff  under  which 
they  had  been  sitting,  and  when,  soon  after, 
they  drove  out  of  the  glen,  she  kept  alert  eyes 
on  the  road,  and  Paul  knew  that  she  was  ready 
any  moment  to  drop  out  of  sight  like  a  fright- 
ened squirrel.  He  was  glad  that  she  missed 
something  shown  to  him  for  an  instant  by  a 
turn  in  the  road — a  horse  tied  behind  a  shel- 
tering clump  of  bushes,  attached  to  a  wagon 
very  like  the  one  that  had  passed  them  earlier 
in  the  afternoon.  The  burly  figure  was  want- 
ing, and  Paul  fell  into  uneasy  wondering  that 
kept  his  eyes  somber  even  when  he  joined  in 
the  cheerful  nonsense  of  the  others.  When 
they  reached  home,  he  walked  with  the  child 
across  the  road  towards  the  cabin  where  she 
lived. 

"Remember,  Viola,"  he  said  gravely,  "if 
you  are  in  any  trouble,  or  need  help,  you  can 
come  straight  to  me.  And  you  won't  let  dread- 
ful thoughts  stay  in  your  head,  will  you?" 

"But  you  are  going  Monday,"  she  said  after 
a  pause,  burrowing  in  the  dust  with  one  bare 
foot. 

.78 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

"But  there  is  all  Saturday  and  Sunday  first," 
he  answered.  uWill  you  come  over  and  play 
with  us  to-morrow?"  She  gave  him  a  shy 
smile  and  stood  to  watch  him  as  he  turned 
back  to  the  farmhouse  above  the  road,  enter- 
ing his  room  by  the  long  window  from  the 
porch. 

But  she  did  not  appear  in  the  morning.  She 
must  have  heard  their  voices  all  day  as  they 
swam  in  the  pond,  which  was  respectably  deep 
on  one  side,  just  beneath  the  farmhouse,  and 
lounged  in  the  grass,  talking  interminably, 
with  open  books  in  their  laps,  or  trailed  off 
on  little  journeys  of  exploration ;  but  the  cabin 
door  never  opened.  Paul  was  at  first  frankly 
relieved,  but  towards  evening  he  began  to  be 
uneasy.  Finally,  half  impatient  with  him- 
self, he  crossed  the  road  and,  leaning  over  the 
remnant  of  fence  that  guarded  the  cabin, 
whistled  a  cheerful  invitation.  There  was  a 
faint  movement  of  the  calico  curtain  across 
the  window,  but  no  other  response,  though  he 
followed  up  his  signal  with  a  call  of,  "O 
Viola!"  As  he  turned  away,  a  faint  sound 
that  might  have  been  a  sob  arrested  him;  but 
it  was  not  repeated,  and  he  went  slowly  back. 

"I  wish  I  could  find  out  something  about 
179 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

the  child,"  he  said,  later,  to  Charlotte.  "They 
have  been  here  only  a  few  weeks,  and  nobody 
knows  who  or  what  they  are.  Viola  will  never 
answer  questions,  and  they  don't  dare  put  them 
to  her  father.  He  does  the  cooking — what 
cooking  there  is — and  she  does  everything 
else.  I  could  stir  up  the  S.  P.  C.  C.  if  I  had 
proof  that  he  was  cruel  to  her;  but  I  have 
only  a  moral  certainty." 

For  the  first  time,  Charlotte  failed  him  a 
little  in  sympathy. 

"I  know,"  she  said ;  "but  the  world  is  so  full 
of  poor  things !  They  make  New  York  so  op- 
pressive to  me  sometimes,  I  can't  stand  it.  I 
hoped  that  this  was  going  to  be  a  vacation 
from  misery  as  well  as  from  work." 

"And  it  ought  to  be — you  do  so  muchl" 
Paul  spoke  with  a  quick  generosity  that  left 
her  secretly  ashamed. 

"If  she  were  an  attractive  child,  or  even 
moderately  clever,  I  suppose  I  should  be  all 
stirred  up  about  her,"  she  admitted  to  Donna 
when  they  were  upstairs. 

"It  is  because  she  isn't  that  Paul  feels  it  so," 
said  Donna  slowly.  "The  pathos  of  the  dead- 
ly commonplace " 

"If  you  are  going  to  be  literary,  I  shall  shut 
1 80 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

my  door,"  Charlotte  objected.  "She  is  a  hor- 
rid little  thing,  and  I  will  not  be  uncomfort- 
able about  her." 

"Poor  Charlotte!  How  your  conscience  is 
bothering  you,"  laughed  Donna,  and  Char- 
lotte's reluctant  laugh  betrayed  her. 

The  next  day  was  their  last  at  Little  Manas- 
set,  for  they  were  to  take  an  early  train  back 
to  town  Monday  morning;  but  still  Viola  did 
not  join  them.  Once  they  saw  a  still,  angular 
little  figure  watching  them  from  behind  a 
tree;  but  when  they  called  an  invitation,  she 
vanished  without  answering. 

"That  proves  that  she  is  alive,  anyway," 
said  Charlotte,  with  an  air  of  shrugging  off 
responsibility. 

It  was  a  sultry,  oppressive  night,  and  though 
every  window  and  door  of  the  house  was  left 
wide  open,  not  a  stirring  of  air  could  be  in- 
duced inside.  Long  after  the  others  had  gone 
to  bed,  Paul  sat  on  the  porch  in  the  dim  light 
of  an  old  moon,  discovering  ships  and  Titans 
and  Madonnas  in  the  massed  foliage  of  the 
trees.  Donna,  creeping  down  after  water,  saw 
him  there,  his  dark  head  resting  against  a  pil- 
lar, his  face  grave  and  remote,  indefinably 
strange  to  her,  She  seemed  to  be  looking  at 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

someone  she  had  never  known  and  would 
never  know,  and,  forgetting  her  water,  she 
groped  her  way  up  the  stairs  again,  to  fall 
asleep  at  last  in  a  little  bunch  on  the  floor,  her 
head  against  the  window  ledge.  About  the 
same  time,  Paul,  glad  to  find  his  tree  pictures 
becoming  blurred,  went  to  his  room  and,  after 
long  stages  of  discomfort,  fell  asleep. 

Several  hours  later,  he  came  back  with  a 
start  to  full  consciousness.  He  had  heard  no 
sound,  yet  he  knew  there  was  a  reason  for  his 
waking,  and  his  heart  beat  heavily  as  he  hesi- 
tated to  open  his  eyes.  A  glimpse  showing 
that  the  room  was  full  of  faint  daylight  gave 
him  courage  for  a  wider  look;  and  then  he 
started  up  on  his  elbow  with  an  exclamation : 

"  Viola  1" 

The  child  stood  just  within  the  long  win- 
dow, a  gaunt  little  shadow,  clutching  nervous- 
ly at  her  dark  cotton  gown.  She  said  nothing, 
and,  dim  as  the  light  was,  he  could  see  that  she 
was  trembling. 

"My  dear  child,  what  is  it?  Were  you 
afraid?  Has  anything  happened?"  he  asked. 
"Come  over  here  and  tell  me  why  you  are  up 
at  this  hour." 

She  came  slowly  towards  him,  her  eyes  on 
1182 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

the  floor.  He  drew  her  gently  down  on  the 
bed.  "Was  your  father  drunk?  Did  he 
frighten  you?"  She  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  troubled  about  something,"  he 
persisted,  "and  I  am  going  to  help  you,  you 
know.  You  can  tell  me,  can't  you?" 

For  answer,  she  buried  her  face  suddenly 
in  her  elbow.  She  did  not  cry  aloud,  child 
fashion,  but  her  little  body  shook  with  sobs 
that  only  her  stifled  breathing  betrayed.  Paul 
waited  in  silence,  not  even  moving  the  hand 
he  had  laid  on  her  knee,  until  she  had  strug- 
gled back  to  a  tremulous  self  control,  then  he 
gave  her  his  handkerchief  from  under  the  pil- 
low with  a  smile  so  full  of  understanding  and 
warmth  and  bright  courage  that  it  brought  a 
wan  response  to  the  child's  face. 

"It's  good  to  cry  it  all  out,"  he  said.  "Then 
we  can  begin  all  over  again."  They  sat  in 
silence,  one  of  her  trembling  hands  in  his  firm 
clasp,  while  the  dawn  brightened  outside  and 
a  sleepy  chittering  spread  in  the  maples. 

"Viola,"  he  began  presently,  "when  chil- 
dren are  not  happy  in  their  homes,  there  are 
people  in  New  York  who  find  other  homes  for 
them — take  them  to  some  kind  woman  who 
wants  a  child  to  help  her,  and  who  promises 

183 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

to  be  very  good  to  them.  Now  when  I  go 
back  to  town  today,  I  am  going  to  talk  to 
these  people,  and  see  if  I  can't  find  such  a  home 
for  you.  As  soon  as  I  do,  I  will  come  down 
and  get  you.  Wouldn't  you  like  that?" 

A  faint  light  came  into  the  dull  little  eyes; 
then  it  faded  and  she  shook  her  head.  "We'd 
be  gone  away  and  you  couldn't  find  us,"  she 
said  hopelessly.  "Father,  he  won't  stay  any- 
wheres long." 

"But  couldn't  you  write  me  where  you 
were?  If  I  gave  you  a "  he  broke  off,  see- 
ing the  shamed  color  in  her  face.  "But,  of 
course,  you  aren't  old  enough  to  write  yet," 
he  said  cheerfully.  "When  we  find  a  nice 
woman  for  you  to  live  with,  perhaps  you  will 
go  to  school.  Wouldn't  that  be  rather 
fine?" 

Her  answering  smile  was  born  of  politeness 
rather  than  of  hope.  "My  father  wouldn't 
let  me,"  she  said  drearily.  "He  never  lets  me 
know  people.  He  said  I  couldn't  come  over 
to  see  you  again — not  even  to  say  good-by." 

"Is  he  afraid  you  will  tell  things?" 

The  look  of  stubborn  dumbness  came  back 
to  her  face,  and  she  glanced  nervously  towards 
the  open  windows, 

184. 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

"I  must  go  back/'  she  whispered.  "He 
might  wake  up." 

"Well,  we  won't  really  say  good-by,"  sug- 
gested Paul.  "You  know,  I  am  coming  back 
for  you  one  of  these  days."  His  confidence 
touched  her  at  last,  and  a  glimmer  of  belief 
crept  into  her  eyes.  "Don't  forget  how  to  play 
Follow  My  Leader,"  he  went  on;  "and  you'd 
better  finish  that  dam  of  ours." 

She  scarcely  heard,  her  soul  was  so  filled 
with  an  evident,  breathless  wish  as  she  stood 
awkwardly  before  him.  Paul,  reading  it, 
drew  her  towards  him. 

"Of  course  you  are  going  to  kiss  me  good- 
by,"  he  said  with  matter-of-fact  friendliness. 
She  mutely  offered  her  pale  little  face,  then 
turned  and  ran  from  the  room. 

It  was  nearly  time  to  get  up  when  Paul 
dozed  off,  and  in  consequence  he  was  late  for 
their  start.  Their  bags  had  been  sent  to  the 
station  in  a  cart,  but  they  had  chosen  to  walk, 
following  a  shorter  cut  through  the  woods. 
As  Paul  hurried  after  the  others,  he  sent  a 
glance  back  towards  the  cabin.  Viola  was 
not  in  sight,  but  the  wagon  stood  at  the  door, 
and  her  father  seemed  to  be  putting  things 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

into  it.       Paul  hesitated,  frowning  with  the 
effort  to  see  more  distinctly. 

"Paul!  you  will  miss  the  train!"  called 
warning  voices  from  the  path  ahead,  and,  with 
a  sigh  of  perplexity,  he  followed.  They 
walked  rather  soberly  through  the  early  morn- 
ing brilliance.  Donna  tried  to  be  enthusias- 
tic over  the  hordes  of  buttercups  and  the  bird 
songs,  but  they  were  all  sadly  conscious  that 
their  holiday  was  over,  and  that  in  town  they 
must  go  their  separate  ways  again.  Their 
heads  were  tired  from  the  hot  night,  their  sun- 
burn ached,  and  light  heartedness  seemed  a 
rarer  state  than  they  had  realized  when  they 
came  down  so  gaily  a  week  ago.  Paul  grew 
more  and  more  silent,  haunted  by  the  little 
scene  of  the  night  and  oppressed  by  a  feeling 
—which  he  ridiculed,  but  could  not  drive 
away — that  some  one  was  following  them. 
Time  and  again  he  looked  quickly  over  his 
shoulder  to  catch  the  furtive  presence,  but  to 
no  purpose,  and  the  unconsciousness  of  the 
others  suggested  his  own  jangled  nerves  as  the 
explanation.  None  of  them  saw  a  little  blue- 
gowned  figure  that  watched  behind  the  last 
clump  of  bushes  while  they  crossed  the  open 

1186 


meadow  to  the  static^  then  turned  and  ran 
swiftly  back. 

Paul  had  lagged  more  and  more  behind  the 
others.  The  possible  explanation  of  the 
wagon  at  the  cabin  door  was  beginning  to 
force  itself  upon  him,  though  he  resisted  it 
impatiently.  It  might  mean  a  dozen  things, 
but  intuition  told  him  insistently  that  it 
meant  only  one — another  of  those  hasty  mov- 
ings  that  left  no  trace  behind.  And  what  use 
would  it  be  to  stir  up  good  people  in  Viola's 
behalf,  if  she  herself  had  vanished?  He 
fought  the  idea,  tired  of  the  whole  sordid 
problem;  yet,  as  the  train  came  in  sight,  he 
turned  guiltily  to  the  others. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  I  think  I  won't  go  up 
with  you,"  he  said  with  an  effort.  "Will  you 
forgive  me?" 

They  all  looked  a  little  blank,  and  Cameron 
began  a  noisy  protest,  but  was  silenced  by  his 
mother. 

"It  is  Viola?"  she  asked  as  he  helped  her 
on  the  train. 

"Yes;  I  can't  help  it,"  he  apologized.  She 
smiled  at  his  abject  tone. 

"Come  to  me  if  I  can  help,"  she  said. 

Paul,  with  a  long  breath  of  relief,  turned 
1187 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

back  across  the  meadow.  Once  in  the  path, 
he  began  to  hurry,  he  could  not  have  told  why. 
He  found  himself  running  down  the  small 
hills  and  scrambling  breathlessly  up  the  steep 
places.  As  he  came  out  on  the  slope  back  of 
the  farmhouse,  he  was  ashamed  of  his  panic, 
everything  looked  so  tranquil  and  usual.  The 
meaning  of  the  wagon  at  the  cabin  door  was 
now  unmistakable,  for  it  was  piled  high  with 
household  goods.  He  descended  dubiously, 
not  quite  sure  what  he  should  do.  Then  his 
eyes  fell  on  the  ruffled  surface  of  the  pond, 
and  he  knew  why  he  had  hurried. 

The  child  lay  in  the  water  just  under  the 
high  bank,  and  ripples  were  still  circling 
away  from  her.  Paul  flung  himself  to  the 
strip  of  gravelly  margin  and,  clinging  to  an 
overhanging  tree,  caught  a  fold  of  her  dress 
and  drew  her  out  upon  the  grass.  He  knew 
what  to  do  do,  and,  throwing  off  his  coat,  fell 
to  work,  lifting  his  head  occasionally  to  shout 
for  help.  At  last  steps  sounded  on  the  path 
overhead.  A  moment  later  he  looked  into 
the  red  face  of  Viola's  father. 

"Dead,  ain't  she?"  asked  the  latter,  after  a 
pause. 

"I  don't  know/'  said  Paul  shortly, 
188 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

"She  come  back  from  playin'  in  the  woods 
and  found  me  gettin'  ready  to  move,"  he  went 
on.  "Guess  she  had  a  tantrum  about  it.  You 
don't  think  she's  alive,  do  you?" 

Paul  had  not  paused  in  his  ministrations. 

"If  she  is,  she  never  goes  back  to  you,"  he 
flung  out.  The  father  did  not  seem  offended 
at  this. 

"I  don't  want  her  none.  But  I  don't  want 
her  goin'  around  blabbin'  about  what  she 
don't  understand.  Kids  talk  too  much." 

"She  won't  talk.  You  have  scared  her  too 
thoroughly.  Besides,"  he  paused  an  instant 
to  look  straight  into  the  evil  face  above  him, 
"if  you  let  her  go  without  any  fuss,  I  will  see 
that  she  isn't  questioned.  Otherwise,  I  shall 
start  an  investigation." 

The  man  twisted  his  lips  consideringly. 

"I  heard  you  tryin'  to  pump  her  one  day 
about  me,  up  to  that  glen,"  he  said  suddenly. 

"Yes — I  know  you  did.  And  you  heard 
that  I  didn't  succeed.  I  am  willing  to  drop 
all  questioning  if — there — I  think — yes,  she 
is.  Can  you  get  something  hot  for  her  to 
drink?" 

"There's  some  coffee  left." 

"Very  well,  bring  that." 
189 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

The  man  slouched  off,  but  paused  at  the  top 
of  the  bank.  "I  don't  say  as  there's  anything 
to  tell,  anyhow.  Only  kids  get " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Paul  impatiently.  "Hurry 
up!" 

A  few  moments  later  Viola  opened  languid 
eyes,  that  widened  miraculously  as  they  fell 
on  his  face. 

"Well,  young  woman,  so  you  fell  into  the 
pond,"  he  said  cheerfully.  A  shamed  look 
crossed  her  face,  and  she  lowered  her  eyes  in 
silence.  "It  was  lucky  I  came  back,"  he  went 
on.  "I  am  going  to  take  you  up  to  town  with 
me  this  very  morning.  Your  father  says  I 
may."  A  light  of  eagerness  shone  out  for  an 
instant,  but  she  shrank  back  as  her  father  ap- 
proached. Paul  went  to  meet  him  and  took 
the  tin  cup  of  coffee  he  carried. 

"I  left  out  some  duds  for  her  over  there," 
he  explained.  "I'm  off,  now.  And  she  can 
remember,"  he  raised  his  voice,  "if  she  ever 
takes  to  gabbin'  about  me  or  my  affairs " 

"She  won't,"  Paul  interposed.  "She  is 
going  to  forget  your  existence.'* 

"That's  the  healthiest  thing  she  can  do,"  he 
said,  and  turned  away  without  a  word  of  good- 

190 


PAUL  AND  VIOLA 

by.  A  few  moments  later  they  heard  the  rat- 
tle of  his  wagon  on  the  road. 

When  Viola  came  out  of  the  cabin,  dry  and 
neat,  her  tiny  bundle  under  her  arm,  Paul  rose 
from  the  grass  where  he  had  waited  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  her.  The  shy  radiance  of  her 
face  touched  and  reproached  him. 

"You  know,  Viola,  I  am  not  taking  you  to 
anything  very  grand,"  he  said.  "You  will 
have  to  work  hard,  but  it  will  be  for  kind 
people,  and  if  you  try,  they  will  be  fond  of 
you." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  wordlessly,  in  happy 
security,  and  they  went  up  the  sun-flecked  path 
together. 


191' 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN  OUTSIDER. 

"TF  you  knew  what  it  meant  for  a  De  Long 
to  be  earning  her  living!"  Charlotte 
said  earnestly.  "Five  years  ago,  they  had 
everything;  they  were  the  people,  up  there. 
You  remember,  Paul;  you  knew  them  one 
summer.  And  now  Elsie  is  coming  down 
here  to  give  music  lessons.  We  must  help  her, 
children.  She  wants  to  find  an  apartment  in  a 
studio  building — 'a  big  room  for  pupils  and  a 
little  hole  to  sleep  in,'  she  writes." 

"I  can  help  her  there,"  said  Paul. 

"My  little  cousins  might  take  lessons  of 
her,"  Evelyn  added. 

Charlotte  was  meditating  deeply. 

"I  wonder  if  we  couldn't  have  her  here,  just 
for  a  week  or  so,  till  she  gets  settled,"  she  sug- 
gested. "Cameron,  you  would  have  to  give 
up  your  room  and  sleep  on  the  cot  in  my  work- 
room. Would  you  mind,  dear?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

T93 


"Very  well,  I'll  do  it.  And  you  must  all 
come  in  and  make  it  pleasant  for  her  and  help 
me  out,  won't  you?" 

"Rather,"  assented  Paul. 

Donna  and  Evelyn  arrived  early  the  next 
Sunday  night,  to  find  Charlotte  setting  the 
table  for  eight  instead  of  the  usual  seven.  Her 
face  wore  a  dubious,  somewhat  anxious  ex- 
pression. 

"Has  the  lady  come?"  they  asked. 

"Yes,  last  night,"  said  Charlotte  with  an 
unconscious  sigh.  "Paul  sent  her  up  some 
lovely  violets.  Wasn't  it  like  him?" 

They  nodded,  a  little  wistfully. 

"There's  no  need  of  his  being  too  nice  to 
her,"  Donna  finally  ventured,  and  then  all 
three  laughed  in  frank  understanding. 

"We  needn't  worry,  I  think,"  Charlotte  be- 
gan. "She  isn't  exactly  his — oh,  Elsie,  come 
in.  Here  are  two  of  us  for  you  to  meet." 

A  slender  girl  with  elaborately  dressed  hair 
came  graciously  forward. 

"Charlotte  has  told  me  so  much  about  you 
all,"  she  said.  "Which  of  you  is  it  that  writes? 
That  must  be  very  nice." 

"Oh,  it's  a  good  deal  like  hard  work,''  said 
Donna,  who  was  too  simple  and  friendly  to 

194 


AN   OUTSIDER 

know  condescension  when  she  met  it.  Evelyn 
had  drawn  herself  up  into  the  most  correct  of 
attitudes  and  was  looking  the  visitor  over  with 
a  cool  and  guarded  eye. 

"I  hope  nothing  will  keep  Paul  away," 
Charlotte  said,  to  fill  a  pause.  "He  used  to 
know  Miss  De  Long  several  years  ago." 

"I  wish  I  could  remember  him  better,"  said 
Miss  De  Long  thoughtfully.  "I  knew  so 
many  men  then;  my  life  was  so  full — he  was 
rather  crowded  out,  don't  you  know?" 

Donna  turned  on  the  speaker  such  an 
amazed  and  offended  countenance  that  Char- 
lotte, to  save  her  gravity,  jumped  up  and  hur- 
ried out  to  the  kitchen. 

"Donna,  come  and  help  me,"  she  called 
back.  Donna  found  her  laughing  to  herself 
as  she  dried  the  lettuce  leaves. 

"Crowded  out  of  her  little  seven  by  nine  life 
— Paul!"  began  the  girl.  "Isn't  that — pre- 
posterous?" 

"Oh,  it  is  funny,  and  it  is  pathetic,"  Char- 
lotte answered.  "That  is  the  way  she  sees 
everything." 

"Is  it  to  save  her  amour  propre,  because  he 
didn't  notice  her?" 

"I  think  she  really  believes  it.     She  sees 

195 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

things  as  she  wants  to  see  them.  Oh,  thank 
heaven  we  —  that  is  Paul  now.  Go  and  let 
him  in,  dear." 

Supper  was  a  dreary  occasion.  Whatever 
the  opinion  that  was  expressed,  Miss  De  Long 
gently  set  the  speaker  right  and  dismissed  the 
subject.  In  the  intervals  she  instructed  them 
generously  on  matters  social,  literary,  and  ar- 
tistic. It  was  easy  to  read  their  attitudes. 
Cameron  glared  at  her  with  open  hatred  when 
she  courteously  put  down  his  mother.  Char- 
lotte was  irritated,  Donna  distressed,  Ffloyd 
bored  to  rudeness,  Lanse  amused,  and  Evelyn 
keenly  on  guard,  ready  to  hit  back  so  subtly 
and  intangibly  that  Miss  De  Long  showed  her 
instinctive  deference;  only  Paul  remained  in- 
scrutable. 

"I  know  her  kind,"  Ffloyd  said  to  Donna 
afterwards.  "She  hunts  up  books  nobody 
ever  heard  of,  and  then,  when  you  admit  you 
haven't  read  them,  she  shouts,  'You  haven't 
read  that?  Oh,  you  must!  Promise  me  you 
will,  at  once !'  And  you  feel  so  like  an  igno- 
rant boor  that  you  do  go  and  read  the  thing. 
But  next  time  she  has  another  all  ready  for 
you — 'Now,  don't  tell  me  you  haven't  read 
that!  O  Mr.  Ffloyd,  you  have,  surely!  I 

196 


AN    OUTSIDER 

can't  believe  it!'  That's  the  way  to  make 
people  think  you  are  cultivated." 

"I  would  rather  they  thought  I  had  some 
manners,"  Donna  answered.  "Sh!  She  is  go- 
ing to  play." 

Miss  De  Long  played  beautifully;  there 
was  no  doubt  of  that.  They  quite  forgot  and 
forgave  in  their  enthusiasm  for  good  work, 
crowding  about  the  piano  with  eager  com- 
ments. 

"If  you  can  teach  others  to  play  like  that, 
you  won't  have  any  difficulty  about  pupils," 
said  Charlotte  warmly.  "I  know  several 
mothers  who  would  be  glad  to " 

"Oh,  I  shall  have  all  the  pupils  I  can  take," 
interrupted  Miss  De  Long,  rising  from  the 
piano.  "The  Carroltons  and  the  Bradbury- 
Coles  and  the  Stephen  Le  Grands  and  a  num- 
ber of  those  people  are  going  to  send  their 
daughters  to  me,  They  think  it  so  terrible 
that  I  should  have  to  do  it,"  she  went  on  earn- 
estly, "but,  do  you  know,  I  don't  feel  that  way 
about  it  at  all.  I  am  quite  proud  to  earn 
money.  I  was  telling  dear  Mrs.  Bradbury- 
Cole  so  the  other  day  at  luncheon — but,  of 
course,  she  couldn't  understand.  Didn't  your 

197 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

friends  make  it  hard  for  you,  Charlotte,  when 
you  began  to  work?" 

"Oh,  no — not  the  friends  I  cared  about," 
answered  Charlotte  tranquilly.  "Most  of 
them  were  educated  beyond  that  point.  Do 
play  something  more,  Elsie." 

When  the  others  had  gone,  and  Cameron 
had  said  a  sulky  good  night,  Miss  De  Long 
leaned  back  and  studied  her  patent  leather 
slippers  with  an  amused  smile. 

"Your  friends  are  really  very  interesting, 
Charlotte.  I  enjoyed  meeting  them,"  she 
said.  "Your  Paul  has  an  attractive  person- 
ality, in  a  way."  Charlotte  winced  and  twist- 
ed in  her  chair,  but  said  nothing.  The  other 
went  on  serenely:  "I  like  his  manner,  too. 
And  have  you  ever  noticed  what  a  good  pro- 
file he  has?  He  has  looked  up  some  apart- 
ments for  me  and  given  me  a  list.  That  was 
very  nice  of  him." 

"Yes,  Paul  is  very — nice,"  assented  Char- 
lotte, with  a  longing  glance  towards  the  door. 

"The  one  you  called  Evelyn  attracted  me  the 
most,"  Miss  De  Long  pursued.  "She  had  a 
certain  savoir  faire,  an  air  of  social  experi- 
ence. She  was  rather  more  my  kind  than  any 

198 


AN   OUTSIDER 

of  them,  I  fancy.  She  has  been  out  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  hasn't  she?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  Evelyn  has  had — advan- 
tages." Charlotte  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  des- 
perate movement.  "Now,  you  must  be  so 
tired ;  and  we  shall  be  out  late  at  the  opera  to- 
morrow night.  I  am  not  going  to  keep  you 
up  any  longer." 

"Well,  it  has  been  a  very  interesting  eve- 
ning," concluded  Miss  De  Long,  following 
her  down  the  hall  to  the  room  out  of  which 
Cameron  had  been  turned.  "I  think  one  en- 
joys getting  out  of  one's  own  little  set  once  in 
a  while,  don't  you?  Whenever  I  have  been 
in  New  York  before  I  have  always  seen  just 
the  same  people — the  Bradbury-Coles  and  the 
Stephen  Le  Grands  and  all  those,  you  know. 
Don't  you  think  you  get  tired  of  your  own  sort, 
occasionally?" 

"I  should  think  you  would,"  said  Charlotte 
very  sympathetically.  "Good  night,  Elsie." 

The  various  members  of  Us  generally 
viewed  the  opera  from  the  top  gallery,  on  a 
strictly  Dutch  basis,  when  they  went  at  their 
own  expense;  but  for  this  occasion  Charlotte, 
after  due  reflection  over  the  extravagance,  had 
bought  three  seats  in  the  dress  circle  and  in- 

199 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

vited  Paul  to  go  with  them.  They  were  ad- 
miring each  other's  general  appearance  in  the 
parlor  when  Miss  De  Long  swept  in,  trailing 
ripples  of  lace  and  chiffon  and  drawing  on 
very  white  gloves.  With  her  came  a  faint  at- 
mosphere of  violets  and  cleaning  fluid. 

"Won't  you  need  something  on  your  head?" 
Charlotte  suggested.  "You  know,  we  are 
just  going  across  in  the  car."  Miss  De  Long 
looked  blank  for  a  second. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  think,"  she  said,  recovering. 
"Yes,  I  will  put  on  a  hat."  And  she  rustled 
back  to  her  room. 

Paul  was  distressed. 

"Charlotte,  I  ought  to  have  brought  a  car- 
riage," he  exclaimed.  "I'm  growing  into  a 
Hottentot.  Haven't  I  time  to  run  and " 

"No,  you  have  not,"  said  Charlotte  firmly. 
"And  I  wouldn't  let  you  in  any  case.  She  can 
go  our  way  or — all  ready,  Elsie?" 

"Does  it  look  very  funny?"  asked  Miss  De 
Long  anxiously.  "You  see,  I  didn't  do  my 
hair  for  it.  It  was  stupid  of  me." 

"You  look  just  as  pretty  as  possible,"  Char- 
lotte answered;  and  she  talked  resolutely  all 
the  way  over  in  the  car,  though  Miss  De  Long 
was  too  much  absorbed  in  saving  her  gown  to 

zoo 


AN   OUTSIDER 

listen,  and  Paul  balanced  in  front  of  them  with 
a  look  of  such  acute  distress  in  his  eyes  that 
she  could  have  cried  for  him. 

"Paul,  it's  all  right;  and  we  have  good 
seats,"  she  whispered  to  him  as  they  entered 
the  opera  house. 

"I  was  a  cad  not  to  think  of  it,"  he  repeated 
miserably.  "Oh,  I  hate  being  poor  with  a 
woman!  I'd  rather  never  go  near  one  than 
take  her  in  a  trolley  car!" 

"But  you  don't  feel  that  way  with  Us,"  she 
urged. 

"No.  Thank  heaven,  that's  different.  But 
I  can't  stand  it  with  outsiders.  This  way,  Miss 
De  Long." 

"Oh — up  stairs!"  she  murmured.  "Why, 
really,  this  is  very  nice,"  she  added,  as  they 
took  the  seats  Charlotte  had  chosen  with  such 
enjoyment  of  her  recklessness.  "I  have  never 
been  above  the  boxes  before — though  I  know 
awfully  nice  women  who  go  even  higher  than 
this.  They  say  it  is  not  bad  at  all." 

"Why,  we  find  the  top  gallery  of  all  very 
much  better  than  staying  away,"  said  Char- 
lotte. 

"Well,  really,  I  suppose  you  are  perfectly 
safe  not  to  meet  any  one  you  know,"  said  Miss 

201 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

De  Long  charitably.  "There,  that  is  Mrs. 
Bradbury-Cole,  in  that  third  box.  Striking, 
isn't  she? — such  very  good  form." 

Charlotte  looked  helplessly  across  at  Paul, 
who  was  staring  straight  in  front  of  him  with 
somber  eyes.  The  overture  had  begun,  but 
all  that  wonderful  opera  was  dust  and  ashes  to 
them  both.  Their  cheerful  independence, 
which  recognized  social  distinctions  but  re- 
fused to  be  troubled  by  therrij  was  for  the 
moment  inoperative.  For  Elsie's  opinions  in 
the  abstract  they  cared  not  one  penny;  but  her 
manifest  reluctance  at  being  where  she  was 
depressed  them  intolerably.  She  was  reso- 
lutely "nice"  to  them  both,  and  pointed  out  to 
them  persons  of  distinction  with  intimate 
anecdotes,  even  relaxing  to  good  humored 
whispers  of  derision^  such  as  : 

"Fancy  wearing  a  pince-nez  with  a  tiara! 
Isn't  that  just  like  Mrs.  Jimmy  Home?"  But 
she  hastily  refused  to  promenade  between  the 
acts,  and  at  the  close  she  proposed  that  they  re- 
main in  their  seats  until  "the  crush  was  over." 

"I  am  afraid  we  may  lose  our  cab,"  object- 
ed Paul,  who  had  left  them  for  a  few  moments 
in  the  last  intermission.  Elsie  rose  with  re- 
lieved alacrity,  betraying  by  her  sudden 

202 


AN   OUTSIDER 

spirits  how  acutely  she  had  dreaded  an  undis- 
tinguished exit  into  a  street  car.  All  the  way 
home  she  talked  comfortably  to  them  both, 
never  once  suspecting  the  wrenching  effort  of 
their  response. 

Thanks  to  Paul's  list,  the  apartment  was 
soon  found.  Charlotte  demurred  at  the  rent, 
but  Miss  De  Long  thought  it  very  cheap. 

"If  you  knew  what  the  John  Harveys  pay 
for  their  apartment!"  she  explained,  and  paid 
down  three  months'  rent  in  advance  with  a 
tranquil  confidence  in  her  own  reasoning  that 
made  argument  hopeless.  The  furnishing 
was  done  with  exquisite  taste,  but  with  a  dis- 
regard for  cost  that  troubled  Charlotte. 

"I  simply  cannot  live  in  ugly  surroundings," 
Miss  De  Long  insisted;  "and  it  would  be  very 
stupid,  too,  from  a  business  standpoint.  The 
place  must  be  pleasant  to  come  to — you  have 
no  idea  how  much  atmosphere  means  to  the 
sort  of  people  I  go  with.  And  then,  money 
will  be  coming  in  at  the  end  of  the  month. 
The  two  Carrolton  girls  come  on  Wednesday 
for  their  first  lesson,  and  Mrs.  Bradbury-Cole 
will  send  Marie  Rose  the  moment  I  am  ready; 
and  there  are  dozens  more  all  ready  to  come. 
I  don't  need  to  bother  about  money." 

203 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Well,  that  is  very  comfortable,"  admitted: 
Charlotte,  half  convinced,  yet  uneasy.  "And 
if  you  should  need  or  want  a  few  extra  pupils, 
Evelyn's  little  cousins,  the " 

"Oh,  but  I  shall  be  very  expensive,"  inter- 
posed Miss  De  Long;  "three  dollars  a  lesson, 
any  way,  and  probably  four  and  five." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Charlotte  quietly. 

Miss  De  Long  moved  into  her  new  quarters 
on  Friday,  and  Cameron  helped  her  with 
such  obvious  joy  that  his  mother  had  to  keep  a 
severe  eye  on  him. 

"I  have  enjoyed  my  stay  with  you,  Char- 
lotte," she  said  graciously.  "You  have  all 
been  very  kind,  and  I  want  you  to  come  and 
take  tea  with  me  Sunday  at  five — Mr.  Ffloyd 
and  everybody.  Will  you  tell  them  for  me?" 

Charlotte  promised,  and  drew  a  long  breath 
as  her  guest  drove  away  in  a  hansom. 

"You  needn't  think  I'm  going,"  began  Cam- 
eron, instantly  on  the  defensive. 

"Dearie,  I  rather  hoped  we  could  all  go," 
said  Charlotte  gently.  "Her  people  and  ours 
were  so  much  to  each  other,  years  ago.  She 
means  well,  too.  Somehow,  I  am  sorry  for 
her."  Cameron  flung  himself  down  disgust- 
edly. 

204 


AN   OUTSIDER 

"Oh,  bother  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  so 
blamed  soft,  I  always  do  things  when  you  go 
at  it  that  way.  And  you  know  it.  You're 
taking  a  mean  advantage  of  my  weakness. 
Mother,  you're  no  gentleman." 

She  found  the  others  harder  to  manage,  but 
somehow  Charlotte  always  had  her  own  way. 
Evelyn  and  Lanse,  who  knew  or  were  re- 
lated to  many  of  the  families  whose  names 
Miss  De  Long  rolled  on  her  tongue,  found  a 
wicked  amusement  in  her  conversation,  and 
Lorrimer  Ffloyd,  after  hotly  scolding  Donna 
for  going,  followed  her  himself  and  sat  se- 
verely aloof,  refusing  food,  drink  or  conversa- 
tion. Miss  De  Long  played  hostess  with 
aggressive  kindness  and  tact. 

"I  did  not  ask  anyone  to  meet  you,"  she  ex- 
plained. "I  thought  it  would  be  pleasanter 
by  ourselves.  You  are  such  a  talented  little 
group — I  should  not  have  dared  ask  anyone 
who  was  not  very  brilliant.  I  don't  think, 
you  know,  that  the  richest  and  most  fashion- 
able people  are  always  the  cleverest.  That  is 
the  trouble  with  my  friends — the  only  thing  I 
have  against  them — they  are  all  so  horribly 
rich  and  smart!  Lemon,  Charlotte?" 

205 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

Charlotte  took  her  cup  with  a  smile  of 
gentle  malice. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  us  to  run  to  for  relief," 
she  said  innocently. 

"Oh,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  little  time  for 
'running'  anywhere;"  Miss  De  Long  spoke 
hastily.  "My  work  will  be  very  exacting — 
and  my  Sundays  are  promised  three  deep  al- 
ready. One  goes  out  of  town  so  much,  Sun- 
days, now  that  everyone  has  motors.  I  don't 
expect  to  have  any  free  time  at  all." 

She  came  back  to  that  theme  more  than 
once,  having  evidently  a  kindly  desire  not  to 
raise  false  expectations;  and  though  she  met 
their  good-bys  with  a  gracious,  "I  shall  hope 
to  see  you  all  again,"  her  tone  implied,  "in  the 
next  world." 

"Now  she  has  squared  her  obligation  to 
you,  Charlotte,  by  giving  your  friends  a  good 
time,"  commented  Evelyn  as  they  strolled 
away.  "She  can  forget  our  names  with  a  clear 
conscience  as  soon  as  she  likes." 

"Heaven  grant  she  does!"  murmured  Ffloyd 
crossly. 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  so  busy  for 
Charlotte  that  Miss  De  Long  was  rather 
crowded  out,  though  the  thought  of  her  al- 

206 


AN   OUTSIDER 

ways  brought  a  moment's  uneasiness,  until  the 
girl  finally  came  to  call.  She  was  more  gra- 
cious than  ever,  but  avoided  the  subject  of  her 
work,  and  dwelt  so  insistently  on  the  luncheons 
and  dinners  that  had  been  given  in  her  honor 
that  Charlotte  felt  all  responsibility  shifted 
from  her  shoulders,  and  was  doubly  cordial  in 
her  relief. 

"You  might  stay  and  have  luncheon  with 
me,"  she  suggested.  "A  little  hash  would  be 
good  discipline  for  you,  after  all  your  luxury." 

Rather  to  her  surprise,  Miss  De  Long  ac- 
cepted at  once,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  the  minced 
lamb  and  creamed  potatoes  and  tea  to  a  sur- 
prising degree. 

"Our  cafe  is  very  nice,  but  I  get  tired  of 
it,"  she  apologized,  as  Charlotte  served  her 
a  second  time.  "This  has  such  a  good  little 
home  flavor."  Charlotte  was  pleased,  but  sus- 
pected nothing. 

It  was  two  weeks  before  Miss  De  Long 
came  again,  and  Charlotte  exclaimed  on  see- 
ing her. 

"Elsie,  you  are  overworking/'  she  pro- 
tested. "Why,  you're  as  thin  as  a  little  cat. 
And  you  are  pale,  too.  I  am  afraid  town 
doesn't  agree  with  you." 

207 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

"Perhaps  it  doesn't,"  admitted  Miss  De 
Long.  Her  voice  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  its 
assertiveness.  "I  don't  believe  I'm  so  very 
well.  My  head  rather  aches.  I  thought  per- 
haps you  would  cheer  me  up." 

The  smile  that  went  with  the  words  was  so 
troubled  and  wistful,  so  unlike  the  superb, 
condescending  Elsie  of  other  days,  that  Char- 
lotte was  touched  and  self  reproachful. 

"You  poor  child!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  I 
have  been  too  busy  to  wonder  about  you,  even. 
Don't  you  think  a  cup  of  tea  would  do  you 
good?  I  am  dying  for  one,  myself." 

"Why — if  it  is  no  trouble,"  said  Elsie  hesi- 
tatingly; and  then  the  color  rushed  up  into  her 
cheeks  and  mortified  tears  came  into  her  eyes; 
but  Charlotte  had  left  the  room  and  did  not 
see.  In  a  few  moments  there  was  a  little  blue 
pot  of  tea  breathing  fragrance  between  them, 
and  bread  and  butter  sandwiches  in  thin  tri- 
angles. Miss  De  Long  lifted  her  cup  with  a 
hand  that  trembled. 

"Oh,  it  is  so  good!"  she  exclaimed  im- 
pulsively ;  and  two  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 

"My  dear,'*  said  Charlotte  warmly,  "you  are 
homesick — that's  what  is  the  matter  with  you. 
And  no  wonder,  striking  out  alone  like  this, 

208 


AN    OUTSIDER 

after  the  way  you  have  always  lived.  Why 
won't  you  come  back  here  for  a  while?  You 
can  have  Cameron's  room  and  be  as  inde- 
pendent as  you  please — go  off  to  your  pupils 
every  morning,  and  come  back  at  dinner  time. 
What  do  you  say,  Elsie?" 

Elsie  said  nothing  at  all.  She  sat  with  her 
eyes  on  her  hands,  her  lower  lip  caught  sharp- 
ly between  her  teeth. 

"Just  as  you  like,  you  know,"  Charlotte 
added  reassuringly.  "Our  way  of  living  is 
very  primitive.  If  you  are  dismal  it  might 
do  you  good,  for  a  week  or  so.  But  if  you  don't 
want  to " 

"I  do  want  to — more  than  anything  on 
earth,"  interrupted  the  girl,  in  a  voice  that 
tried  desperately  to  be  steady.  "But  I  won't 
come  without  telling  you  just — what  is  the 
matter.  I  haven't  any  pupils,  and  my  money 
is  all  gone,  and  I  haven't  had — a  real  meal — • 
for — "  It  was  too  hard;  she  could  not  finish. 
Her  head  went  down  on  her  arm.  In  an  in- 
stant Charlotte  was  beside  her,  crying  warmly, 

"You  poor  girl!  Why  didn't  you  come  to 
me  before?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  in  a  stifled  voice.  "You 
see,  they  didn't  go  back  on  me  at  all ;  but  the 
209 


Bradbury-Coles  went  South — they  hadn't  ex- 
pected to — so  of  course  that  took  Marie  Rose 
away.  And  the  Carrolton  girls  have  been  ill, 
and  the  Stephen  Le  Grands  had  engaged  some- 
body else  for  the  present,  and  that  was  the  way 
with  all  of  them.  And  I  didn't  want  to  write 
home — it  is  so  hard  to  explain  things.  Mrs. 
Bradbury-Cole  would  have  done  everything 
for  me  if  she  hadn't  gone  South.  It  all  just 
happened." 

"Of  course — I  know  just  how  things  do 
happen."  Charlotte's  voice  was  resonant  with 
sympathy.  "Now  finish  your  tea,  Elsie,  and 
then  come  and  lie  down  in  my  room  till  din- 
ner time.  I  am  so  glad  you  came!" 

She  put  her  guest  into  a  wrapper,  tucked 
her  up  in  pleasant  darkness,  and  then  went  off 
to  hasten  dinner.  Elsie  lay  in  abject  comfort, 
feeling  the  burden  of  herself  shifted  off  her 
own  hands,  and  reveling  in  her  release.  The 
door  was  not  quite  closed,  and  she  could  hear 
Charlotte  moving  about  the  flat.  Then  the 
front  door  shut,  and  Cameron's  step  sounded 
in  the  hall.  She  was  sinking  into  drowsiness 
when  his  voice,  raised  indignantly,  brought 
her  back  with  a  start. 

"I  don't  see  why  she  should  come  and  hang 

2IO 


AN   OUTSIDER 

around  your  neck,  mother,"  he  was  declaring. 
"You  have  enough  to  do.  If  she's  sick,  why 
doesn't  she  go  to  the  Fitz  Willie  de  Green  peo- 
ple she's  always  bragging  about?" 

Charlotte  evidently  protested,  for  presently 
he  went  on : 

"No,  I'm  not  selfish.  I'd  always  give  up 
my  room  like  a  shot  for  any  one  who  cared 
about  us  in  the  least — though  I'm  two  feet 
too  long  for  that  beast  of  a  cot;  I  have  to  loop 
myself  up  at  the  foot.  But  she  just  uses  us, 
and  then  snubs  us  afterwards." 

Charlotte's  voice  answered  reprovingly,  but 
the  boy  burst  out: 

"Well,  I  don't  care.  If  she's  going  to  stay 
here,  I'll  get  out,  that's  all.  I  can't  stand  liv- 
ing in  the  house  with  a  tin  queen!" 

The  voices  moved  away.  Elsie  lay  rigidly 
still  for  a  few  moments;  then  she  rose  softly 
and  dressed,  pinned  on  her  hat,  tipping  it  well 
down  over  her  tear  stained  eyes,  and  took  up 
her  gloves.  But  as  she  stepped  out  into  the 
hall,  the  homely  sound  of  table  setting  came 
to  her,  the  faint  clash  of  dishes  and  the  ring 
of  silver.  Then  she  heard  Charlotte's  laugh, 
whole  souled,  sweet,  and  generous,  as  irresisti- 
ble to  the  lonely  girl  as  a  lighted  window  to 

211 


a  lost  wayfarer.  She  hesitated,  and  then,  turn- 
ing back,  took  off  her  things,  crept  into  the 
wrapper  once  more,  and  laid  her  head  on  her 
arms.  But  the  tranquility  was  gone.  Her 
heart  was  very  sore,  and  she  had  taken  up  the 
burden  of  herself  again. 

"Asleep?"  said  Charlotte's  voice  at  the  door. 
"Come  to  dinner  just  as  you  are,  Elsie;  Cam- 
eron won't  be  home.  Or  shall  I  bring  it  to 
you?" 

"No,  I'll  come;"  and  Elsie  followed  wearily 
to  the  table.  The  good  dinner  and  Charlotte's 
friendly  cheerfulness  warmed  her  a  little  in 
spite  of  herself.  When  it  was  over  she  turned 
bravely  to  her  hostess. 

"Charlotte,  will  you  help  me  to  get  some 
pupils?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  of  course,  I'd  love  to.  But  you  don't 
want  to  think  of  work  for  a  few  days.  Wait 
till  you  are  rested." 

"No ;  I  want  to  begin  tomorrow.  Did  you 
say  that  Evelyn  had  some  cousins " 

"Yes,  the  two  little  Duncan  Russells.  I 
know  they  want  some  one  right " 

"Not  the  Duncan  Russells!"  Elsie  ex- 
claimed. 

"Yes,"  said  Charlotte  quietly.    "Why  not?" 

212 


AN   OUTSIDER 

"Why,  I  never  dreamed  they  could  be — " 
she  broke  off  and  colored  under  the  other's 
glance.  "I  don't  know — one  hears  so  much 
of  the  Duncan  Russells,"  she  explained,  a  lit- 
tle confusedly.  "I  have  seen  them  at  the  Le 
Grands,  but  I  never  happened  to  meet  them. 
Mrs.  Bradbury-Cole  knows  them." 

"They  are  very  simple,  well  bred,  nice  peo- 
ple," said  Charlotte;  "and  nobody  in  New 
York  can  help  you  so  much  as  they  can.  I 
will  write  Mrs.  Russell  a  note  tonight." 

Elsie  moved  restlessly  about  the  room,  her 
cheeks  still  flushed.  Then  she  leaned  her 
arms  on  the  mantelpiece  and  rested  her  fore- 
head against  them. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  said  irritably.  "It  is  a  nasty 
feeling,  not  to  be — proud  of  yourself.  I  hate 
it." 

"But  it  is  very  wholesome,"  added  Char- 
lotte. 

When  bedtime  came,  Elsie  flatly  refused  to 
take  Cameron's  room. 

"It  will  be  only  for  a  night  or  two,  and 
there  is  no  sense  in  turning  him  out,  is  there, 
Mr.  Cameron?"  she  added,  turning  pleasantly 
to  the  boy,  who  had  just  come  in.  He  colored 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

furiously  and  protested  in  genuine  distress, 
but  she  remained  firm. 

"Now  I  feel  like  a  cad,"  he  exclaimed,  after 
she  had  gone  to  bed.  "She  won't  be  com- 
fortable on  that  little  cot,  mother.  Why  didn't 
you  make  her  take  my  room?" 

"We  will  tomorrow,"  said  his  mother  ap- 
provingly. 

It  was  very  late  when  Elsie  woke  up(  the 
next  morning.  Charlotte  had  set  up  her  easel 
in  the  sitting  room  and  gone  to  work  on  a 
magazine  cover,  but  the  maid  was  hovering 
near,  ready  to  prepare  the  guest's  bath  and 
bring  her  an  attractive  breakfast.  She  came 
in  refreshed  and  bright  eyed,  full  of  new  cour- 
age. 

"Now,  Charlotte,  I  am  going  to  attack  the 
town,"  she  said.  "I  expected  it  to  come  to 
me ;  now  I'll  try  going  to  it." 

"If  you  can  spare  five  minutes  first,  you 
might  let  me  sketch  that  hat,"  Charlotte  sug- 
gested. "It  is  just  what  I  want.  Stand  over 
there ;  that's  right.  Oh,  bother — was  that  the 
door  bell?  Why,  Harriet  I"  jumping  gladly 
to  her  feet  as  a  swish  of  skirts  in  the  hall  was 
followed  by  the  entrance  of  an  imposing  wom- 
an who  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

214 


AN   OUTSIDER 

"I  got  your  note  this  morning,  Charlotte," 
she  began,  "and  I  ran  right  down  to  see  you 
about  that  little  music  teacher.  I  couldn't 
make  out  her  name " 

"Not  very  little,"  interrupted  Charlotte  hur- 
riedly. "Here  she  is — Miss  De  Long,  Mrs. 
Russell." 

"Oh,  Miss  De  Long — why,  I  know  all  about 
you;"  and  she  shook  hands  with  irresistible 
cordiality.  "Now,  I  know  we  are  interrupt- 
ing Mrs.  McLean.  Suppose  you  let  me  take 
you  up  to  my  house  to  talk  business?  That's 
good.  Charlotte,  how  is  my  beloved  Paul?" 

"My  beloved  Paul  is  all  right — I  don't 
know  anything  about  yours,"  returned  Char- 
lotte. 

"Jealous!"  said  the  visitor,  with  a  delighted 
laugh.  "He's  coming  to  luncheon  with  me 
on  Thursday." 

"Then  I  am  coming,  too,"  declared  Char- 
lotte, laying  down  her  brushes. 

"Indeed  you  are  not.  But  I  wish  you  would 
come  some  other  day — Friday?" 

"No,  Thursday  1"  Charlotte  called  after  her 
defiantly. 

"Friday!"  she  returned  from  half  way  down 
the  stairs.  Then  she  turned  to  Elsie^  still  smil- 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

ing.  "Mrs.  McLean  is  a  very  wonderful  wom- 
an," she  said.  "You  are  fortunate  to  have  her 
for  a  friend." 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  Elsie,  with  lowered  eyes. 


216 


CHAPTER  X. 

CAMERON'S  AFFAIR. 

CAMERON!"  called  Charlotte  from 
her  work  room. 
"Yes,  mother/'  answered  a  somewhat  re- 
luctant voice  from  the  hall. 

"Do  come  and  pose  for  me,  like  a  dear  boy. 
I  need  a  very  striking  young  man  for  my 


cover." 


"But,  my  dear  mother,  I  have  just  time  to 
keep  an  engagement."  Cameron  appeared  in 
the  doorway,  very  much  dressed  up,  very  self 
conscious  and  dignified.  "I  promised  to  call 
for  Miss  Arthur  at  four  o'clock.  She's  going 
to  take  a  walk  with  me,"  he  added,  drawing 
on  conspicuously  new  gloves  with  a  man- 
about-town  air,  a  heavy  stick  under  one  arm. 

"How  did  it  come  about?"  asked  Charlotte, 
properly  impressed. 

"Oh,  I  simply  asked  her,  and  she  said  she 
would  be  charmed  to."  Then  the  small  boy 
came  to  the  surface  in  a  delighted  giggle, 

217 


THE   TOP   OE  THE    MORNING 

"What's  the  matter  with  little  Willie?"  he  de- 
manded, swaggering.     Charlotte  laughed. 

"What  are  you  going  to  talk  to  her  about?" 
she  asked. 

"Why,  whatever  the  lady  chooses;"  Cam- 
eron became  dignified  again.  "Books,  theatre, 
art,  music — she  can't  stump  me.  Would  you 
wear  these?"  He  pulled  forward  a  button- 
hole bursting  with  lilies  of  the  valley,  and 
studied  it  anxiously.  "Lanse  says  flowers  in 
your  buttonhole  are  bad  form  now,  but  I  do 
like  'em.  What  would  you  do?" 

"Wear  them,"  said  Charlotte.  "And  then, 
if  there  is  a  good  chance,  you  can  give  them 
to  her.  You  have  enough  there  for  a  corsage 
bouquet." 

"Great  eye,"  commented  Cameron.  "I'll 
do  it.  Au  revoir,  Mrs.  McLean."  At  the 
door  he  paused,  hesitating.  "I  say,  do  you  sup- 
pose I'll  bore  her  to  death?"  he  broke  out.  "I 
know  I'm  only  a  foolish  little  boy.  Won't  she 
be  wishing  me  in  Jericho?" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  his  mother.  "You 
may  be  sure  she  is  very  glad  to  do  it.  She  told 
me  you  interested  her  very  much.  Go  on, 
dear,  and  don't  think  about  yourself,  Just 
give  her  as  good  a  time  as  you  can." 

218 


CAMERON'S   AFFAIR 

Cameron  was  beaming  and  confident  again. 

"All  right,  then.  Here  goes!"  And  he 
swung  out,  chest  high  and  head  up,  young  life 
cavorting  perilously  under  manly  dignity. 
Charlotte  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  eyes 
full  of  laughter.  At  a  mental  picture  of  the 
lady  in  the  case,  it  suddenly  brimmed  over. 
Well,  if  Miss  Arthur  found  it  amusing,  she 
was  more  than  satisfied. 

Cameron  came  home  radiant,  with  empty 
buttonhole. 

"Now  that's  what  I  call  a  lady,"  he  confided 
to  his  mother.  "You  ought  to  have  seen  her 
— all  velvet  and  fur  and  bully  white  gloves. 
She  didn't  just  wear  any  old  thing  because  she 
was  going  out  with  me.  I  tell  you,  we  were  a 
couple!" 

"And  how  did  you  get  on?"  asked  Charlotte, 
deeply  interested. 

"Well,  the  first  ten  minutes,  it  was  pretty 
bad,"  he  admitted.  "Someway,  she  was  so 
handsome,  and  so — grown  up,  you  know,  I 
wanted  to  excuse  myself  for  living,  and  I  just 
fell  over  my  feet,  right  and  left.  I  couldn't 
even  talk  straight — felt  as  though  I  had  a 
mouthful  of  cold  blotting-paper.  But  she 
didn't  notice  a  thing  and  talked  along  as  if  we 

219 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

walked  up  Fifth  Avenue  every  day  of  our 
lives ;  and  so  I  got  on  to  myself,  and  after  that 
it  was  lovely.  She's  great." 

"And  you  gave  her  your  flowers?"  Char- 
lotte was  longing  to  know  more,  but  could  not 
question  him  too  closely. 

"Did  I !  You  ought  to  have  seen  me.  She 
said  something  about  them,  and  I  said  I  had 
just  worn  them  in  the  hope  she'd  notice,  so  that 
I  could  have  an  excuse  to  offer  them.  How 
was  that  for  a  kid?"  And  Cameron's  chuckle 
would  have  assured  the  most  anxious  mother 
that  she  had  not  yet  lost  her  small  boy.  "I 
wish  I  dared  ask  her  to  go  to  the  theatre  with 
me,"  he  went  on.  "Do  you  think  she  would? 
I  suppose  we'd  have  to  have  a  chaperon." 

Charlotte,  taken  unawares,  let  a  sudden 
laugh  escape.  Her  son  was  indignant. 

"Oh,  I  know  she's  ten  years  older  than  I 
am!  But  she  doesn't  look  it,  does  she?  And 
isn't  a  chaperon  just  for  looks,  anyway?"  he 
demanded. 

"Yes,  dear.  You  are  perfectly  right;" 
Charlotte  hastily  recovered  her  gravity.  "And 
I  like  it  that  you  are  punctilious  about  wom- 


en." 


"Well  of  course,"  said  Cameron  mollified. 
220 


CAMERON'S   AFFAIR 

The  theatre  suggestion  was  not  followed  up, 
but  Miss  Arthur  let  Cameron  take  her  to  a 
service  at  the  cathedral  a  few  days  later,  and 
then  she  asked  him  to  help  her  rearrange  her 
library.  His  devotion  grew  with  the  weeks, 
and  all  the  time  that  could  be  spared  from  his 
studies  (and  possibly  some  that  could  not) 
went  to  the  making  of  a  Christmas  offering — 
an  ingenious  little  wooden  chest  for  jewels. 
He  talked  of  her  till  only  his  mother  would 
stand  him.  Teasing  on  the  subject  did  not 
trouble  him:  indeed^  he  seemed  to  enjoy  it. 
Charlotte  met  Miss  Arthur  on  the  street  one 
day,  and  both  women  laughed  as  they  shook 
hands. 

"I'm  afraid  my  small  boy  is  boring  you  to 
death,"  Charlotte  began. 

"Indeed  he  is  not.  He  is  the  nicest  boy  I 
ever  knew,"  said  Miss  Arthur.  "I  enjoy  him 
immensely." 

"Well,  you  have  utterly  won  his  heart;  and 
you  are  the  very  first."  Charlotte  sighed  a  lit- 
tle. "You  will  never  find  any  truer  devotion. 
A  boy's  love  can  be  so  angelic — once  in  his 
life!"  she  added. 

"I  hope — I  should  hate — "  Miss  Arthur 
hesitated.  Charlotte  put  out  her  hand. 

221 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

"You  are  making  him  immensely  happy, 
and  doing  him  good.  Only  don't  let  him  bore 
you." 

"Oh,  he  never  does  that." 

The  first  day  of  the  Christmas  holidays 
Cameron  was  allowed  to  go  skating  with  his 
lady.  For  twenty-four  hours  afterwards  he 
was  like  a  jovial  tornado  in  the  little  apart- 
ment. Charlotte,  wearied  with  his  noise  and 
her  own  laughter,  was  thankful  to  see  him  go 
forth  the  following  afternoon  in  the  punctil- 
ious array  that  had  only  one  meaning. 

"Here  are  two  hours  of  quiet,  anyway,"  she 
said,  smiling  after  him.  "If  the  lady  will  only 
keep  him  to  dinner!" 

But  in  less  than  an  hour  he  was  back,  a  very 
different  Cameron,  silent,  moody,  with  a  look 
of  tragic  anger  in  his  eyes  that  made  his 
mother  ache  for  him.  He  offered  no  expla- 
nation, and  for  the  first  time  evaded  a  chance 
to  talk  of  Miss  Arthur.  Indeed,  he  would  not 
talk  on  any  subject,  but  sat  through  a  long  eve- 
ning with  his  eyes  held  sternly  on  a  book, 
whose  leaves  were  not  turned.  Charlotte  at 
last  made  an  excuse  to  cross  the  room,  that  she 
might  gently  rub  his  hair  in  passing. 

222 


"Well,  dear  boy?"  she  said.  "Can't  you  tell 
me  about  it?" 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows  in  polite  surprise. 

"Why,  there  is  nothing  to  tell,"  he  said. 
"Someone  else — a  fellow  named  Courtney — 
came  to  call  on  Miss  Arthur,  so  I  didn't  stay. 
That's  all.  She  asked  me  to  come  again  to- 
morrow evening,  but  I  don't  know  whether  I 
shall  or  not." 

Charlotte  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  waited. 
Presently  Cameron  threw  aside  his  book  and 
jerked  himself  to  his  feet. 

"I  don't  see  how  men  like  that  get  into  nice 
houses,"  he  burst  out.  "Mother,  you  know 
what  kind  of  a  woman  she  is — why,  you  want 
to  take  your  shoes  off  when  you  go  into  the 
same  house  with  her.  She's  the  sort  of  woman 
you'd  expect  a  queen  to  be — all  lady,  inside 
and  out.  You'd  think  anyone  would  feel  it 
and  respect  it.  And  that  man  sat  up  there  in 
her  drawing-room  and  smoked!" 

Charlotte  would  have  strangled  rather  than 
laughed;  but  she  attempted  a  faint  defense. 

"But,  dearie,  perhaps  she  has  known  him  a 
long  time.  You  know  we  like  to  have  some 
people  smoke  here."  Cameron  brushed  aside 
the  argument  as  not  worth  attention. 

223 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"And,  then,  I  didn't  like  a  story  the  fellow 
told,"  he  went  on}  with  an  outraged  shake  of 
his  head.  "I  don't  mean  it  was  shady;  it 
would  have  been  all  right  in  most  places.  But 
to  tell  that  kind  of  a  thing  before  her! 
Wouldn't  you  think  a  stableboy  would  know 
better?  Of  course  she  had  to  laugh — she's  so 
kind — but  /  could  see  she  didn't  like  it.  I 
felt  I'd  punch  the  fellow  if  I  stayed  another 
minute,  so  I  got  out.  And  if  he  is  going  to  be 
there,  I'll  stay  out.  Good  night."  And  he 
marched  off  to  his  own  room. 

Only  a  mother,  and  perhaps  not  all  mothers, 
could  have  endured  Cameron  for  the  next 
twenty-four  hours.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  a 
little  worn  but  still  perfectly  sympathetic, 
Charlotte  dragged  him  out  for  a  walk,  and  the 
young  giant,  bewildered  and  angry  at  his  own 
sore  heartedness,  followed  sulkily  where  she 
led,  and  would  not  seem  to  notice  when  they 
passed  Miss  Arthur's  house. 

"Suppose  we  run  in  and  see  her  for  a  mo- 
ment," suggested  Charlotte  in  a  sudden-bright- 
idea  tone.  "I  really  owe  her  a  call." 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  I  care  to,"  was  the 
grand  reply. 

"Of  course — you  are  invited  for  the  eve- 
224 


CAMERON'S   AFFAIR 

ning.  I  had  forgotten  that,"  she  amended 
cheerfully.  "Is  it  to  be — " 

But  Cameron  was  not  listening.  A  cab  had 
just  passed,  and  the  street  lamp  showed  a 
young  woman  in  velvet  and  furs  inside.  It 
stopped  at  her  door.  Charlotte  looked  back 
in  time  to  see  a  man  alight,  then  turn  and  offer 
his  hand  to  the  young  woman.  The  pavement 
was  slippery  with  ice,  and  she  went  up  the 
steps  with  her  hand  still  on  his  arm.  Char- 
-lotte  knew  instinctively  that  this  must  be  the 
fellow  named  Courtney. 

"Shall  we  go  home  now?"  she  said.  "A  fire 
will  feel  good." 

"You  go.  I'll  walk  a  little  more."  And 
Cameron  trudged  off  into  the  early  winter 
darkness  with  his  neck  sunk  into  his  coat  col- 
lar, and  his  hat  pulled  far  over  his  eyes. 

When  he  got  home,  late  for  dinner,  there 
was  a  note  waiting  for  him.  He  took  it  up 
with  a  sudden  light  in  his  face,  that  died  out 
as  he  read. 

"It's  just  a  note  from  Miss  Arthur  to  say  that 
she  can't  see  me  to-night — she  has  a  bad  head- 
ache," he  explained  carelessly.  "She  says  she 
will  write  me  to-morrow  and  make  another 
date.  Dinner  ready?" 

225 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

Pride  had  set  in,  and  anyone  but  a  mother 
would  have  welcomed  the  change.  Cam- 
eron's whole  soul  was  bent  on  showing  that  he 
had  never  been  gayer  in  his  life,  and  Charlotte 
saw  only  what  he  wanted  her  to,  patiently 
biding  her  time.  He  was  formal  with  her 
these  days,  keeping  her  at  arm's  length,  and  he 
kissed  her  good  night  with  such  an  effort  that 
she  contrived  to  let  him  avoid  what  had  never 
before  been  a  ceremony,  knowing  how  wholly 
he  would  come  back  to  her  when  his  bruised 
and  bleeding  self  could  bear  the  light  again. 
The  postman  came  seven  times  a  day,  and 
seven  times  a  day  Cameron  slipped  out  and 
trudged  down  the  three  long  flights  to  watch 
for  hirr  ;  and  each  time  Charlotte  felt  her  heart 
thump  in  sympathy  till  a  glance  at  his  face  told 
her  hope  was  over  for  this  hour,  and  the 
promised  note  had  not  come.  When,  hunting 
in  the  dark  corner  of  a  store  closet,  she  came 
across  the  unfinished  jewel  chest,  thrust  down 
behind  a  box,  she  could  have  cried. 

It  was  a  dreary  week,  and  at  the  end  of  it 
Charlotte  drew  up  to  her  little  coal  fire  in  the 
early  dark  to  make  some  stern  resolutions.  But 
instead  she  found  herself  listening  to  the  soft 
clink  of  the  snow  against  the  window  and  won- 

226 


CAMERON'S  AFFAIR 

dering  where  Cameron  was.  His  quick  step 
in  the  hall  foretold  news,  and  she  turned  eager- 
ly as  he  burst  into  the  room,  snowy,  breathless, 
all  his  pose  and  self  consciousness  swept  away 
by  some  overwhelming  feeling. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother  1"  He  flung  himself 
down  beside  her  and  buried  his  face  on  her 
shoulder.  "She's  ill — dreadfully,  terribly  ill 
— she's  been  ill  all  these  days,  and  I've  never 
even  been  to  ask  about  her.  She's  getting 
worse  and  worse,  and  they  don't  know  whether 
she'll —  And  I've  been  sulking  around  think- 
ing about  myself  and  never  even  sent  her  a 
message !  Think  of  her — "  His  breath  came 
in  quick  gasps,  and  she  felt  his  arms  tremble. 

"How  did  you  find  it  out,  dear?" 

Cameron  did  not  answer  for  some  moments. 
Then,  with  a  long  sigh,  he  drew  away  from 
her  and  settled  down  at  her  feet,  his  face 
turned  to  the  fire. 

"Why,  I  walked  by  the  house — I  happened 
to — and  there  was  a  little  card  over  the  bell, 
saying  please  not  ring,  because  of  serious  ill- 
ness. So  I  asked  at  the  basement  She  had 
most  fainted  that  day  we  saw  her,  at  a  tea,  and 
— someone  had  brought  her  home  in  a  cab. 
And  sick  as  that,  she  bothered  to  send  me  a 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

note,  so  that  I  shouldn't  come  round  that  night 
— think  of  it!  And  I  never  went  near  her. 
And  now  it's — too — la — " 

Charlotte  waited  a  while,  then  she  told 
him  about  various  wonderful  recoveries  that 
she  had  known  of.  It  was  not  long  before  she 
had  him  cheerful  with  new  hope.  After  din- 
ner she  heard  him  whistling  softly  in  his  own 
room,  and,  glancing  in,  saw  him  surrounded 
by  his  tools,  working  busily  at  the  little  jewel 
chest. 

The  morning  news  of  Miss  Arthur  was  en- 
couraging. Cameron  worked  all  day  on  the 
chest,  and  at  dark,  when  it  was  finished,  went 
buoyantly  off  for  a  last  bulletin.  His  heavy 
step  when  he  came  back  prepared  his  mother 
for  his  tragic  face.  Miss  Arthur  was  very 
much  worse.  The  doctor  would  be  there  on 
and  off  all  night.  By  midnight  they  would 
probably  know. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  two  were 
promised  for  a  small  party.  Cameron  would 
not  go,  but  was  so  vehemently  opposed  to 
Charlotte's  staying  away  that  she  finally  went 
without  him.  But  she  could  see  nothing  all 
the  evening  but  the  boy  up  there  alone  with  his 
first  trouble,  and  finally  she  slipped  away.  It 

228 


CAMERON'S   AFFAIR 

was  barely  eleven  when  she  let  herself  in  and, 
after  a  glance  at  the  empty  sitting-room,  stole 
to  his  door.  He  was  not  there,  and  his  over- 
coat was  gone  from  the  hall. 

She  got  together  materials  for  a  little  sup- 
per and  placed  the  gas  stove  ready  to  light, 
then  sat  down  to  wait.  Presently  bells  and 
whistles  announced  Christmas  Day,  and  fell 
away  into  silence  again.  At  half  past  twelve 
Charlotte  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Putting 
on  her  wraps,  she  went  down  to  the  street,  un- 
cannily still  now,  and  muffled  in  fresh  snow. 
Only  a  few  blocks  lay  between  her  and  Miss 
Arthur's  house,  and  she  had  no  fear  of  the  city 
at  any  hour.  As  she  turned  the  last  corner, 
she  stopped  short  and  drew  back  into  the 
shadow.  Across  the  street  a  lonely  figure  was 
pacing  slowly  along  the  block,  pausing  now 
and  then  to  glance  up  at  a  house  opposite.  She 
knew  him  long  before  the  street  lamp  showed 
her  the  boyish  face,  pale  and  set.  Something 
in  it  kept  her  from  speaking.  She  let  him 
turn  and  go  back.  A  wide  path  had  been 
trodden  in  the  snow  on  that  side. 

"I  have  no  small  boy  any  more,"  she  thought 
sadly,  and  went  home  alone. 

229 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

An  hour  later  Cameron  came  in,  making 
clumsy  attempts  at  noiselessness. 

"I'm  up,  dear — in  the  dining-room,"  called 
Charlotte.  He  came  in  shining  with  good 
news. 

"Oh,  mother,  she's  better!  She  has  passed 
the  worst — they  think  she'll  pull  through!" 

"I'm  so  glad,  dear!  How  did  you  find 
out?"  He  looked  a  little  confused. 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  sleepy,  so  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  run  around  there  and  see  the  doctor  as 
he  left.  I  waited  a  few  minutes  for  him,"  he 
explained.  "Have  you  been  in  long?" 

"Oh,  not  so  very;"  Charlotte  was  stirring 
busily.  "I  just  felt  like  some  chocolate.  Will 
you  have  some?" 

"You  bet,"  said  Cameron. 

News  from  Miss  Arthur  continued  better 
and  better.  Before  she  was  taken  out  of  town 
she  was  able  to  write  with  her  own  hand  a  lit- 
tle note  of  thanks  for  the  jewel  box  and  the 
lilies  of  the  valley. 

After  she  had  gone,  Cameron's  mother 
sighed  to  see  a  new  phase  of  the  affair  de- 
velop. He  showed  a  growing  reserve  on  the 
subject  of  Miss  Arthur.  When,  according  to 
her  generous  habit,  Charlotte  introduced  the 

230 


CAMERON'S   AFFAIR 

topic,  Cameron,  instead  of  falling  on  it,  an- 
swered briefly  or  passively  and  presently  let 
it  drop.  She  respected  the  new  mood,  and, 
after  a  few  weeks,  Miss  Arthur's  name  was  al- 
most never  mentioned  between  them.  The  ex- 
pansive little  boy  was  evidently  become  a  man 
in  the  concerns  of  his  own  heart,  and  Charlotte 
would  not  force  his  confidence,  though  she 
wondered  incessantly  what  was  going  on  back 
of  this  new  secretiveness,  and  ached  in  sym- 
pathy for  the  ache  she  could  only  divine.  All 
the  boy's  spare  time  now  went  to  experiments 
in  book-binding,  and  she  bore  the  endless  lit- 
ter without  a  murmur,  suspecting  some  new 
offering  to  the  lady  as  its  ultimate  object. 

Then  one  day  she  came  running  up  the 
stairs,  her  eyes  shining  with  joy  for  his  joy. 

"O  Cameron,  whom  do  you  think  I  saw 
just  now?" 

He  was  at  a  critical  place  in  adjusting  an 
end  paper,  and  did  not  lift  his  head. 

uDunno,"  he  said,  evidently  without  a  sus- 
picion. 

"Miss  Arthur — looking  so  well  and  pretty! 
And  she  sent  you  her  love." 

Cameron  did  not  leap  to  his  feet.  He  did 
not  even  look  up. 

231 


"Good  work,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I  must 
go  and  see  her  some  time.  Mother,  will  you 
put  your  ringer  here  for  a  moment?" 

Charlotte  stared  at  him  blankly.  There 
was  no  duplicity  in  his  serene  voice,  no  pose  in 
the  frowning  attention  the  end  paper  was  re- 
ceiving. And  all  this  time —  She  turned 
and  went  to  her  own  room. 

'The  little  brute!"  she  muttered.  Then 
she  smiled  broadly.  After  all,  it  only  meant 
that  she  still  had  a  small  boy. 


232 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  PROVING  OF  US. 

"  A  ND  so  I  didn't  do  it,"  Cameron  con- 
cluded. "I  just  got  out  and  came 
home.  And  do  you  want  to  know  why?" 

His  mother  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief 
for  the  present  and  dismay  for  the  years  com- 
ing. "Yes;  tell  me  why,"  she  said. 

"Well,  it  wasn't  principles,  though  I  sup- 
pose it  ought  to  have  been.  They  just  didn't 
seem  to  matter.  And,  mother,  it  wasn't  be- 
cause you  would  feel  badly — you  want  it 
straight,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  dear  boy." 

"Well,  then,  it  was  simply  because  I  didn't 
want  Paul  to  think  me  a  little  fool.  When  it 
struck  me  that  he  would  hear  about  it,  I  knew 
I  just  couldn't.  So  I  came  away." 

They  sat  in  silence  a  few  moments,  Char- 
lotte's hand  moving  half  absently  over  the 
boy's  hair.  Presently  Cameron  went  on. 

"Paul  is  good,  you  know,"  he  said,  frowning 
over  the  effort  at  analysiSj  "and  yet  you  don't 

233 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

hate  him  for  it.  Some  people  are  good  be- 
cause they  don't  know  any  better,  and  then 
they're  muffs.  But  Paul  knows  a  lot  better — 
he  could  be  as  wicked  as  sin;  but  he  just 
chooses  not  to.  That's  the  kind  I'd  like  to 
be." 

Charlotte  drew  her  fingers  along  her  eye- 
lids; then  she  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"How  is  a  woman  to  bring  up  a  great  thing 
like  you?"  she  demanded. 

"Oh,  don't  worry.  I'll  get  along  all  right," 
he  comforted  her. 

She  repeated  the  conversation  to  Paul,  later, 
but  he  received  it  with  unwonted  irritation. 

"I  protest.  It  is  not  fair,"  he  exclaimed, 
walking  impatiently  about  the  room.  "Why 
should  I  have  to  pose  as  a  guardian  of  young 
morals?  Do  you  realize  that  you  are  con- 
demning me  to  a  life  of  deadly,  vulgar,  fool- 
ish respectability,  just  because  you  have  a 
great,  stupid  son?" 

Charlotte  only  laughed  at  him,  but  he  went 
on,  fuming: 

"You  have  all  fallen  into  an  abominable 
way  of  referring  your  moral  conduct  to  me. 
I  will  not  stand  it!  Don't  you  suppose  I  lie 
and  steal  like  any  one  else,  when  I  want  to? 

234 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

This  example  business  is  getting  on  my  nerves 
— I  have  to  go  about  on  my  tiptoes,  trying  to 
fit  your  ideal.  Hang  it,  Charlotte,  I'm  an 
artist,  not  a  family  physician.  You  are  spoil- 
ing my  work  among  you.  You've  got  to  stop." 

"Words,  Paul,  words!"  said  Charlotte  tran- 
quilly. "You  can't  escape.  You  will  be  wise 
to  the  endj  and  to  the  end  we  shall  all  set  our 
compasses  by  you." 

"I'll  fool  you  yet,"  he  declared,  and  then 
they  both  laughed ;  but  he  was  frowning  again 
when  he  went  away. 

He  did  not  go  straight  to  his  studio,  but 
turned  with  a  trace  of  defiance  to  a  ground 
glass  door  near  his  own,  bearing  the  name 
"Irene  Potter."  When  he  had  lifted  his  hand 
to  knock,  he  hesitated,  then  turned  and  walked 
away  a  few  steps.  The  door  was  flung  open, 
and  the  appearance  of  a  tall  girl  in  a  painting 
apron  brought  him  about  with  a  half  laugh 
of  apology. 

"What  are  you  doing?  Why  didn't  you 
come  in?"  she  demanded. 

"Oh,  I'm  just  having  a  good  resolution,"  he 
said,  uncertainty  in  his  voice.  She  moved 
aside  with  an  abrupt  gesture. 

"Come  in  and  have  it  here." 

235 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"It  is  not  the  best  place  for  them,"  he  mur- 
mured, but  he  came,  nevertheless.  She  went 
back  to  her  easel  and  apparently  forgot  all 
about  him  in  her  frowning  absorption.  Paul 
smoked  and  watched  her  silently  for  a  long 
time. 

"What  was  the  resolution?"  she  finally 
asked,  without  turning  her  head. 

"Oh,  it  was  along  the  lines  of  prudence  and 
respectability;  it  wouldn't  interest  you."  His 
voice  was  a  lazy  challenge.  She  turned  to  him 
impatiently. 

"I  wish  I  knew  where  you  pick  up  all  this 
bourgeois  propriety  that  you're  always  com- 
ing home  covered  with,"  she  exclaimed. 

"You  do  know." 

"Yes.  And  it's  going  to  be  your  ruin.  Oh, 
it  makes  me  rage!  You  have  some  of  the  real 
fire — you  know  the  secrets — and  then  you  go 
and  push  the  baby  carriage  round  the  square 
for  an  afternoon,  and  come  back  with  the 
point  of  view  of  an  intelligent  greengrocer!" 
She  stood  over  him,  her  hands  thrown  palm 
out  in  angry  protest.  Paul  met  her  eyes  stead- 
ily for  a  moment,  then  drew  in  his  breath  with 
a  slight  shiver. 

236 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

"Irene!  For  God's  sake!"  he  murmured. 
She  turned  away  with  a  shrug. 

"Oh, 'I  know!  You  have  taught  yourself 
to  run  away  from  feeling.  You  would  rather 
be  comfortable  than  live.  But  I  intend  to 
save  you."  She  faced  him  with  a  rather  grim 
smile.  "There's  a  fight  on  between  two  wom- 
en for  the  good  of  your  soul,  my  dear  Paul! 
And  if  I  win,  sooner  or  later  you  will  do  some- 
thing, something  really  big.  You  will  do 
work  that  lasts." 

"And  if  you  lose?" 

"You  will  have  more  orders  than  you  can 
fill,  and  your  photograph  in  the  art  journals 
every  month,  and  a  large  fortune  that  will 
enable  your  wife  and  daughters  to  take  their 
place  in  society;  you  will  be  a  popular  and  in- 
telligent artisan." 

"You  hit  hard,  Irene!" 

"I  am  right.  I  know.  Paul,  very  few  peo- 
ple have  the  real  fire;  don't  let  a  lot  of  cod- 
dling women  choke  it  out  of  you.  It  can't  be 
fed  on  texts!" 

"I  wonder — I  wonder!" 

"I  know!" 

They  might  have  been  combatants  measur- 
237 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

ing  each  other's  strength,  by  their  attitudes. 
Paul  broke  away  with  sudden  exasperation. 

"Oh,  we  think  too  much.  I  am  going  back 
to  work,"  he  exclaimed;  and  she  did  not  try 
to  keep  him. 

In  his  workroom  stood  the  uncouth  begin- 
nings out  of  which  a  man  was  to  emerge,  a 
mythical  figure  of  Genius  that  had  been 
ordered  for  the  new  art  gallery.  Its  com- 
panion, Talent,  already  stood  veiled  in  a  cor- 
ner, grave  and  fine  and  earnest;  but  Paul  had 
hesitated  before  the  youth  of  fiery  splendor 
that  he  had  seen  through  half  shut  eyes  in  the 
blank  clay,  the  exultant  being  who  stood  with- 
out the  law,  giving  the  world  out  of  his  abund- 
ance what  all  its  weary  straining  could  not 
attain.  He  went  to  work  half  heartedly,  and 
was  glad  when  the  fading  daylight  released 
him. 

In  the  morning  he  made  a  dogged  attack 
on  the  little  wax  model  that  he  had  been  fol- 
lowing in  clay,  and  spent  a  harassing  day  try- 
ing to  do  by  will  power  what  could  be  done 
only  by  inspiration — or  whatever  name  it  is 
fitting  to  give  to  that  strange,  eager  current 
that  spreads  through  body  and  brain  when 
the  imagination  starts  on  a  quest.  All  the  half 

238 


THE    PROVING   OF   US 

seen  visions  had  subsided  into  conventional 
images  that  made  him  stamp  with  helpless 
anger.  The  glow  and  the  joy  of  work  were 
gone — probably  forever.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon he  went  savagely  to  Irene. 

"I  can't  do  that  thing,"  he  accused  her. 
"Genius!  What  do  I  know  about  Genius?  I 
can't  work — I'm  just  dead  and  cold — it's  all 
over.  I  shall  simply  tell  them  to  let  some  one 
else  do  their  old  statue.  My  career  has  ended, 
gone  up  in  smoke." 

Irene  let  him  fume  and  tramp  about  the 
room  without  comment  until  his  overwrought 
nerves  were  a  little  relieved.  Then  she  gave 
him  a  cigarette,  and  swept  some  books  off  the 
couch  with  a  nod  of  command.  He  threw 
himself  down  and  pressed  his  face  against  a 
cool  leather  cushion. 

"I  knew  this  would  come,"  she  said.  "I 
have  been  waiting  for  it.  And  I  know  the 
remedy." 

"The  remedy?" 

"Of  course  you  can't  do  work  like  that 
here,"  she  went  on.  "It's  a  wonder  the  place 
hasn't  killed  your  work  long  ago.  It  has  hurt 
mine.  Imagine  anything  valuable  coming  out 
of  these  square,  hideous  rooms2  all  just  alike, 

239 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

on  the  eighth  floor  of  a  square,  hideous  build- 
ing, with  the  elevator  always  full  of  dentists 
and  typewriter  girls!  It's  this  public,  proper, 
banal  atmosphere  that  is  crushing  you.  Mor- 
ally the  place  smells  of  laundry  soap.  We 
have  got  to  go." 

"But,  Irene;  I  claim  to  be  above  surround- 
ings," he  protested. 

"So  do  I — when  I  am  with  the  brass  platter 
and  Persian  tapestry  kind.  It  isn't  what  is 
on  my  walls,  but  the  walls  themselves,  the 
doors  and  windows^  the  way  in  and  out.  I 
have  been  on  the  trail  of  a  place  for  weeks; 
I  shall  know  tonight  if  I  can  have  it." 

"Irene!    You  won't  really  go!" 

"But  I  will!" 

"That  is  terrible — I  won't  let  you!  What 
shall  I  do?" 

"If  you  are  wise,  you  will  come,  too."  They 
had  both  plunged  without  warning  into  dead- 
ly earnest,  though  there  was  only  a  faint 
rigidity  of  attitude  to  betray  it.  Paul  flung 
one  arm  across  his  face,  and  presently  spoke 
from  behind  it. 

"For  the  good  of  my  soul,  Irene?" 

"For  the  good  of  your  work,"  she  answered 
steadily. 

240 


THE    PROVING   OF   US 

"Oh,  it  is  frightful  to  be  as  strong  as  you 
are — and  as  certain,"  he  broke  out.  "Tell  me 
honestly,  don't  you  ever  cry,  or  wish  for  ad- 
vice, or  even  hesitate?  Have  you  quite  done 
away  with  the  feminine  tradition?" 

She  frowned  impatiently. 

"I  have  done  away  with  the  petty  signs  and 
symbols  of  femininity,  I  suppose.  Do  you 
find  me  any  less  a  woman  for  that?" 

"God  help  me,  no!" 

"Well,  then!  Now  I  am  going  out.  Come 
back  at  this  time  tomorrow  and  pack  books 
for  me." 

She  went  away  with  her  usual  abruptness, 
leaving  him  to  scowl  over  troubled  thoughts 
till  hunger  drove  him  out. 

Work  the  next  day  was  even  more  hope- 
less. Paul  had  once  scribbled  on  his  wall  a 
line  from  "The  Wrecker" :  "A  sculptor  should 
possess  one  of  three  things — capital,  influence, 
or  an  energy  only  to  be  qualified  as  hellish" 
— confident  in  his  own  possession  of  the  third 
requisite ;  but  now  even  energy  seemed  to  have 
deserted  him.  He  struggled  fitfully  till  mid 
afternoon,  when  a  messenger  brought  him  a 
note  from  Irene — an  address,  with  "Come  and 
see  it"  scribbled  beneath.  The  address  led 

24  n 


him  down  an  old  fashioned  side  street,  left 
stranded  in  the  center  of  the  town,  and  to  the 
door  of  a  wide  brick  stable,  evidently  disused. 
As  he  hesitated,  an  Irishman  who  sat  tilted 
back  against  the  wall  waved  a  friendly 
thumb  towards  a  side  door  leading  to  the 
attic. 

"She's  up  there,"  he  volunteered. 

Paul  mounted  and  found  himself  in  a 
cavernous  attic,  full  of  a  pleasant  brown  light 
under  its  steeply  pitched  roof.  Evidently  it 
had  been  inhabited  before,  and  by  people  of 
their  own  tribe,  for  open  doors  showed  him 
that  two  deep  skylights  had  been  let  into  the 
sloping  roof,  the  space  beneath  them  being 
partitioned  off  into  two  studios.  The  beams 
and  rafters  showed  traces  of  former  decora- 
tions, and  there  was  a  generous  stove,  as  well 
as  many  comforts  and  conveniences  not  usual 
to  attics.  The  whole  gave  an  instant  impres- 
sion of  charm  and  possibilities.  Paul  skirted 
boxes  and  a  confusion  of  furniture,  and  found 
Irene,  flushed  and  tumbled  but  very  much 
alive,  poised  on  the  narrow  top  of  a  step-lad- 
der, tightening  a  curtain  wire. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?  Doesn't  it  take  a  weight 
off  your  soul?"  she  called  down  to  him. 

242 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

"My  dear  woman — not  while  you  are  risk- 
ing your  life  up  there.     Come  down  this  in- 


stant." 


She  laughed  and  boastfully  stretched  out 
her  arms  to  show  her  perfect  security.  He 
had  never  seen  her  so  splendid. 

"If  you  don't  come  down,  I  shall  come 
up,"  he  threatened,  jealous  of  her  fearlessness 
rather  than  afraid  for  her.  She  came  with  a 
deliberate  nonchalance  that  made  every  step 
a  challenge.  Some  lurking  imp  of  mischief 
had  struggled  to  the  surface,  and  there  was 
amused  consciousness  in  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  in  her  whole  bearing  a  disquieting 
charm  made  up  of  her  old  recklessness  and  a 
new  delight  in  it.  Paul  fell  back  a  step  with 
the  sudden  recognition  of  a  more  immediate 
danger  than  he  was  ready  to  meet. 

"What  have  you  done  to  yourself?  What 
have  you  found  here?"  he  demanded. 

She  looked  up  at  the  old  rafters,  at  the 
stream  of  sunlight  coming  in  the  gabled  win- 
dows, at  the  dusky  corners  full  of  mellow 
brown  light,  and  breathed  deep  with  her  sat- 
isfaction. 

"You  get  it,  too,"  she  said.    "You  are  dif- 

243 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

ferent  already;  and  your  eyes  are  three  shades 
darker." 

"Is  it — the  place?" 

"You  even  stand  differently.  Oh,  there's 
room  here!  And  every  inch  of  it  is -in  sym- 
pathy with  us.  We  can  grow  wings  here — I 
see  the  tips  of  yours  already.  Won't  you  ad- 
mit it?" 

"I  will  admit — something." 

"You  can't  deny  it.  Your  eyes  are  almost 
black  now.  I  had  forgotten  you  were  so  beau- 
tiful, Paul!" 

"You  are  growing  taller  every  minute.  You 
must  stop!  One  can't  look  at  a  woman  level. 
An  inch  more,  and  I  shall  be  afraid  of  you." 

"You  are  afraid  of  me  now!  Come  and 
see  it  all.  I  have  such  plans  for  it.  Shall 
I  tell  you?" 

"No;  not  now." 

"Will  you  see  where  I  shall  work?"  She 
led  him  to  the  partitioned  end,  and  they 
looked  in  the  first  door.  Paul  tried  to  say 
something  casual^  but  broke  off  after  a  few 
incoherent  words.  Then  they  went  silently  to 
the  second  room,  and  lifted  strained  faces  to 
its  high  windows.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

244 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

"Well,  Paul?" 

He  said  nothing,  looking  straight  into  her 
unafraid  eyes. 

"You  will  work  here  every  day — and  you 
will  see  that  I  was  right,"  she  said. 

A  blind  moment  followed.  When  Paul 
found  himself  again,  he  was  walking  in  a 
tumult  of  exultation  through  the  ruddy  streets, 
still  vibrating  with  the  sense  of  something 
splendid  and  living  in  his  arms  and  against 
his  face.  He  tramped  reckless  miles,  but  they 
could  not  sober  him,  and  he  could  have 
shouted  with  joy  in  his  own  defiance.  Love 
and  work,  work  and  love — that  was  all  the 
world  held  for  men  such  as  he.  His  heart 
sang  in  its  new  liberty,  and  he  felt  wide  doors 
swing  back  before  him:  he  had  exchanged  a 
ceiling  for  a  sky. 

Hours  later  he  came  back  through  the 
lighted  town,  wondering  at  the  crowds  pour- 
ing into  the  theatres,  when  they  might  be  at 
their  own  dramas,  working  and  loving  under 
dusky  rafters.  Then  the  sight  of  two  figures 
in  the  crowd  brought  him  down  out  of  his 
paradise  with  a  shock  that  left  him  cold,  and 
old,  and  unutterably  heart  sick.  Charlotte's 
serene  face2  her  amused  eyes^  her  evident  pride 

24S 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

in  the  overgrown  boy  beside  her,  followed  him 
persistently  down  the  side  street  into  which  he 
had  turned  to  avoid  her.  He  was  still  one 
of  Us.  And  rage  as  he  might,  the  claim  was 
not  to  be  thrown  aside  without  a  struggle.  He 
could  not  get  away  from  Charlotte's  wrords, 
"You  will  be  wise  to  the  end,  and  to  the  end 
we  shall  all  set  our  compasses  by  you." 

Half  a  dozen  faces  confronted  him,  all  se- 
renely trustful.  And  Cameron,  who  had 
walked  out  of  temptation  that  Paul  might 
not  think  him  a  little  fool!  Oh,  it  was  not 
fair,  they  had  no  right  to  hamper  and  bind 
him!  They  must  live  as  they  could,  and  leave 
him  free. 

By  morning  all  that  he  really  desired  was 
to  run  away  forever — from  the  tranquil  faith 
of  Charlotte,  that  bound  him  so  unfairly; 
from  the  hampering  devotion  of  the  little 
world  that  said  "Us"  with  a  capital  when 
no  one  could  hear;  from  Irene  with  her  tur- 
bulent power;  from  this  terrible  work  where- 
in so  much  was  expected  of  him,  and  before 
which  he  was  so  impotent.  A  new  world,  or 
the  serenity  of  death 

"Coward!"  he  commented,  and  turned  to 
his  workroom.  The  gaunt  frame,  partly  built 

246 


THE    PROVING    OF    US 

up  with  clay,  stood  like  a  foolish  caricature 
of  the  idea  that  had  been  shown  to  him  in  an 
enlightened  moment  and  then  taken  away. 
He  picked  up  the  wax  model  that  showed 
what  the  finished  figure  would  be,  studied  it 
intently,  then  pushed  it  away  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  despair.  He  was  still  sitting  idly  be- 
fore the  waiting  clay  when  Irene  came,  enter- 
ing with  an  abruptness  that  gave  him  no  mo- 
ment for  decisions.  The  magic  of  the  day 
before  was  still  in  her  face  and  voice  and 
movements,  though  her  direct,  unconscious 
eyes  seemed  to  hold  no  memory  of  what  had 
happened. 

"My  packing  is  almost  finished,"  she  be- 
gan, coming  towards  him  with  a  vigor  fresh 
and  stirring  as  a  strong  wind.  "I  want  you  to 
help  me  for  a  few  moments.  There  is  a  box 
of  books " 

"Irene!" 

"Paul,  you  beautiful!"  Then  she  drew  her- 
self away  to  look  at  him  triumphantly.  "You 
didn't  sleep.  I  can  see  it." 

"Of  course  I  didn't." 

"Oh,  I  shall  teach  you  to  live  yet!  And 
then  you  will  do  your  real  work.  It  is  I  that 

247 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

am  molding  a  genius  out  of  clay."    He  turned 
away  with  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"Certainly  I  am  not.    Look  at  that  thing!" 

She  took  up  the  little  wax  model  and 
judged  it  gravely. 

"It  is  just  what  I  should  expect  to  see  come 
out  of  these  surroundings,"  she  said  finally. 
"It  is  worthy,  and  neat,  and  quite  safe.  The 
committee  will  like  it." 

"Isn't  it  horrible!" 

"Fire  and  freedom,  Paul — you  can't  do 
without  them.  When  will  you  come?" 

"Will  you  marry  me,  Irene?" 

"Don't  be  tiresome.  You  know  that  I  want 
that  as  little  as  you  do.  Come  and  help  me 
now;  my  expressman  will  be  here." 

As  Paul  worked  under  her  directions,  some 
of  her  fine  carelessness  began  to  sweep  through 
him.  The  load  on  his  heart  lifted,  the  claims 
of  other  affections  seemed  remote  and  unim- 
portant. The  glamour  was  over  all  they  said 
and  did,  and  they  laughed  like  children. 
When  they  had  lunched  together,  they  fol- 
lowed her  possessions  to  the  new  quarters  and 
worked  till  they  were  feverish  with  weari- 
ness. Then  she  turned  on  him. 

"Go  home,  Paul.    I'm  tired  of  you." 
248 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

"I  don't  want  to.    I  like  it  here." 

"When  are  you  going  to  bring  your  work?" 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders.  "Dear- 
est woman!  I  shall  make  one  more  attempt 
to  do  it  there.  If  that  fails,  then  I  shall  know 
that  you  are  wise  as  well  as  wonderful.  This 
is  Tuesday  night;  by  Saturday  I  shall  have 
proved " 

"Very  well.  I  will  come  on  Saturday  and 
help  you  pack." 

He  had  said  that  he  would  make  one  more 
attempt.  And  it  must  be  an  honest  one — he 
owed  that  to  Charlotte  and  Cameron,  and 
Donna,  and  all  these  troublesome  friends  who 
had  spun  their  artful  webs  about  him  to  ham- 
per his  freedom.  Three  days  was  not  much 
to  set  apart  for  them.  And  then 

He  seized  a  handful  of  clay  and  turned  to 
the  rough  suggestion  of  a  shape  that  awaited 
him. 

"Do  what  you  can,"  he  challenged  the  six 
that  seemed  to  confront  him.  "If  you  fail, 
I  shall  never  say  'Us'  again ;  if  you  want  me, 
you  must  work  for  me.  You  are  all  in  the 
wrong,  and  you  can't  save  me — that's  what 
you  would  call  it;  but  I  owe  you  the  chance. 
Here  is  your  test!  Show  me  that  I  can  do 

249 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

big  work  without  freedom,  and  I  will  believe 
you.  But  I  shan't  sacrifice  the1  artist  to  the 
citizen,  my  good  and  sober  friends!" 

He  went  to  work  indifferently  enough,  but 
the  sense  that  the  issue  was,  in  a  way,  out  of 
his  hands,  quieted  his  racing  thoughts.  His 
attention  was  freed,  and,  though  he  turned  it 
to  his  subject  with  a  certain  contempt,  before 
an  hour  had  gone  the  workman  had  begun  to 
get  the  upper  hand,  the  fire  in  his  eyes  had  set- 
tled into  a  grave  intentness.  As  the  hours 
passed,  slowly,  out  of  the  darkness  and  misery, 
his  idea  was  coming  back  to  him,  the  vision 
he  had  half  seen  in  the  moment  when  the 
youth  of  fiery  splendor  had  answered  to  his 
first  wondering  over  the  embodiment  of 
genius.  He  threw  out  of  sight  the  laborious 
little  image  that  had  so  cheapened  his  idea, 
and  worked  with  his  eyes  on  the  inner  vision, 
growing  clearer  and  more  imperative  every 
moment.  The  tumult  of  the  past  days  fell 
away  till  it  was  as  dim  and  external  as  the 
experience  of  some  one  else.  Irene  became  a 
beautiful  picture  that  stirred  but  did  not  con- 
cern him.  He  locked  his  door,  letting  visit- 
ors knock  and  go  away.  The  cafe  below  had 
prclers  to  send  up  his  meals;  and  sometimes 

250 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

they  came,  and  sometimes  they  did  not ;  Paul 
never  noticed  their  omission. 

The  third  day  found  him  white  and  lined 
and  unshaven,  more  spirit  than  human,  see- 
ing always  his  idea  rather  than  the  growing 
image  before  him.  When  the  daylight  went, 
he  lit  all  the  lights  and  worked  on  in  numb 
persistence  through  hour  after  hour  of  the 
night.  The  cruel  lights  and  hard  shadows 
doubled  his  difficulties.  His  whole  body 
ached  with  the  physical  labor  demanded  of 
it,  his  mind  grew  dazed  and  confused.  Sev- 
eral times  he  heard  himself  talking  aloud,  and 
distressed  himself  trying  to  remember  what 
he  had  said.  But  he  did  not  think  of  stop- 
ping. His  fagged  brain  kept  repeating  that 
the  idea  must  be  fixed  beyond  denial  before 
Saturday,  though  he  could  not  trouble  to  re- 
member why. 

The  striking  of  a  clock  startled  him.  Was 
it  six  in  the  morning  or  in  the  afternoon?  Was 
his  work  done?  He  pulled  up  the  blinds,  let- 
ting in  a  wintry  gleam  of  early  daylight,  then 
turned  slowly  to  his  statue. 

At  first  he  felt  nothing  but  the  great  shock 
of  wonder  and  joy.  Through  the  rough,  un- 
finished work  shone  the  idea  that  had  held 

251 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

his  inner  sight,  whole  and  resplendent.  At 
last  he  had  done  it,  the  big  thing!  Out  of  the 
years  of  lahor  and  sweat  and  hellish  persis- 
tency had  come  this  living  creation  that  was 
facing  the  dawn  with  the  pride  of  an  equal; 
and  he,  the  creator,  had  a  right  to  his  hour 
of  exultation.  All  the  work  that  was  yet  to 
be  done  could  not  make  it  a  shade  more  beau- 
tiful; could  do  nothing  but  render  it  more 
legible  to  eyes  unable  to  find  the  spirit  with- 
out aid  of  the  letter.  It  stood  now  in  its  per- 
fection for  him,  and  he  had  at  last  achieved. 
And  then,  all  at  once,  he  realized  the  cost 
of  this  achievement;  that  he  had  done  his  great 
work  here,  in  these  surroundings,  out  of  the 
abnegation  of  years;  that  Irene's  wisdom  was 
not  his,  and  that,  by  the  test  of  his  own  expe- 
rience, he  must  be  wise  to  the  end.  If  Irene 
had  contributed  to  this  work,  her  gift  was  no 
more  than  a  spark — the  torch  was  all  his;  and 
a  greater  gift  than  that  might  some  day  be 
taken  reverently,  discreetly,  and  in  the  fear 
of  God.  He  cried  out  against  the  sentence, 
but  his  work  stood  inflexible,  and  he  knew. 
His  worn  nerves  gave  way,  and,  throwing 
himself  face  down  on  the  coucr^  he  sobbed 
desperately. 

252 


THE    PROVING    OF   US 

The  tears  relieved  him.  Presently  he  put 
out  his  hand  and  drew  up  a  rug;  and  then  he 
fell  heavily  asleep. 

Hours  later,  he  awoke  to  a  new  heaven  and 
a  new  earth.  A  great  tranquillity  was  over 
him.  He  turned  to  the  moment  when  he 
would  show  Charlotte  his  work,  and  his  heart 
warmed  to  the  joy  they  would  all  take  in  it, 
those  dear  persons  whose  love  and  faith  were 
so  large  a  part  of  his  life.  Irene  seemed  as 
remote  as  the  fiery  episodes  of  his  first  youth. 

He  shaved  and  bathed,  went  out  for  a  heroic 
luncheon,  and  then,  bruised  and  languid,  but 
blessedly  serene,  came  back  to  sit  at  the  feet 
of  his  work  and  learn.  Even  when  Irene 
came,  as  she  had  promised,  he  felt  no  distress 
— only  friendliness  and  a  warm  pity.  He 
opened  the  door  to  her,  and,  taking  her  hand, 
led  her  to  the  spot  where  he  had  first  seen  and 
known,  when  he  had  let  in  the  dawn.  She 
gazed  in  silence.  He  did  not  look  at  her  face, 
but  he  felt  her  hand  grow  slowly  cold. 

"Well,  have  I  done  it?"  he  asked -very 
gently. 

She  made  no  answer.  After  a  moment,  she 
drew  her  hand  away  and  went  out,  closing 
the  door  behind  her  without  a  glance  back. 

253 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

Paul  heard  her  steps  die  away  in  the  distance, 
then  turned  to  his  statue. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  half  aloud;  then  he 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  stretched  his  arms 
out  wide.  "This  is  freedom!  And  you  taught 
me.  I  shall  never  forget.  But  they  won, 
after  all ;  I  can  still  say  'Us'  1" 


254 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  LITTLE  THING. 

T^ONNA'S  literary  success,  if  not  high,  was 
very  wide.  Besides  her  work  for  children, 
she  was  the  curled  darling  of  the  magazines 
that  aim  at  the  hearts  and  homes  of  the  peo- 
ple rather  than  at  their  heads;  magazines  that 
deal  in  good  red  blood  or  the  sane,  whole- 
some uplift,  and  that  take  the  public  into  their 
editorial  confidence  with  ingenuous  bluffness 
and  earnest  appeals  for  advice.  Donna's 
stories  were  human,  and  often  very  charming; 
but  they  were  undeniably  moral.  In  their 
course,  faulty  heroines,  maid  or  matron,  were 
cured  of  every  known  fault  or  failing,  and 
though  they  often  made  the  reader  laugh, 
there  was  always  a  passage  near  the  end  that 
called  out  touched,  warm,  glad  tears.  Donna 
herself  cried  over  these  places ;  but  she  recog- 
nized that  her  path  did  not  lead  to  literary 
distinction. 
"I  shall  never  have  a  stylish  audience,"  she 

255 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

complained.  "The  dentist's  assistant  has  al- 
ways read  me,  and  the  trained  nurse,  and  the 
dressmaker  by  the  day — the  dollar  and  a  half 
ones,  at  least;  when  they  are  over  two  dollars, 
I  can't  bet  on  it.  But  no  one  who  keeps  more 
that  two  girls  has  ever  so  much  as  heard  my 
name.  It  is  very  discouraging.  If  I  could 
just  once  get  an  admiring  letter  from  a  real 
lady  who  kept  a  butler,  I  should  die  happy. 
But  they're  all  on  purple  paper  with  fancy 
edges!" 

If  the  admiring  letters  lacked  in  social  tone, 
there  was  no  lack  in  quantity.  They  arrived 
in  a  steady  stream,  and  Donna,  though  she 
laughed,  loved  them  dearly  and  often  an- 
swered with  a  genuine  bit  of  herself.  It  was 
only  when  they  came  out  of  her  own  early 
life  that  they  presented  difficulties.  She  had 
a  horror  of  seeming  to  ignore  old  ties,  as  well 
as  an  impelling  friendliness  that  forbade 
dodging.  Yet  her  glance  was  apprehensive 
when  the  postmark  of  her  old  home  turned 
up  in  her  mail.  When  it  came,  over  unfamil- 
iar writing,  three  times  in  as  many  weeks,  she 
opened  the  third  with  a  distinct  sigh  of  im- 
patience. 

"DEAR  DONNA,"  she  read :  "Do  you  remem- 
256 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

ber  Ernie?  I  am  back  here  for  a  visit — we 
live  in  Detroit  now — and  I  have  just  been 
hearing  about  you  from  your  Cousin  Nettie. 
I  have  been  so  proud  of  you  all  these  years. 
I  have  read  every  word  you  have  written,  and 
when  a  magazine  has  not  your  name  in  the  con- 
tents, I  do  not  buy  it.  I  shall  be  in  New  York 
next  week  on  my  way  home,  and  it  would  be 
wonderful  if  I  might  see  something  of  you. 
I  am  only  a  little  country  mouse^  but  your 
cousin  says  you  are  just  as  dear  as  ever,  and 
not  a  bit  grand  with  all  your  fame.  Donna, 
don't  think  me  presumptuous.  I  can't  tell  you 
what  it  would  mean  to  me. 

"Do  you  remember  the  big  willow? 
"Affectionately  your  old  playmate, 

"ERNESTINE  LEMOYNE. 

"P.  S. — My  three  favorite  authors  are  you, 
Carlyle  and  Robert  Chambers,  in  that  order." 

The  postscript  startled  Donna  into  a  shout 
of  laughter,  and  she  re-read  the  letter  more 
leniently.  When  a  young  woman  intimates 
that  the  privilege  of  seeing  you  will  make  an 
epoch  in  her  life,  the  natural  instinct  is  to  re- 
fuse. Vague  perils  hang  about  the  nearer  ap- 
proach of  such  fervor.  Donna  was  personally 
incapable  of  being  bored  by  any  sincere  inter- 
course, but  affectation  could  reduce  her  to 

257 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

dumb  misery;  and  Ernestine  was  a  very  faint 
memory.  Moreover,  admiration  had  more  than 
once  been  followed  up  by  bare-faced  requests 
for  her  influence  with  editors  and  publishers, 
and  she  had  learned  to  be  wary.  But  her 
sophisticated  caution  was  hampered  by  a  poig- 
nant memory  of  her  own  early  years,  when  to 
Meet  An  Author  would  have  meant  the 
tremulous  climax  of  her  existence;  and  she 
had  never  lost  the  scared  consciousness  tha't 
she  might  have  finished  her  days  in  just  such 
dull  starvation,  had  not  her  blessed  talent  fur- 
nished the  key  to  freedom.  She  was  sorry  and 
touched,  and  her  pen  balked  at  excuses. 
Ffloyd  came  in  while  she  was  still  hesitating 
over  her  answer. 

"Another  offer?"  he  asked.  Her  last  nota- 
ble letter  had  been  from  a  missionary  in  Bur- 
mah,  who,  touched  by  her  poem,  "After- 
wards," had  spoken  frankly  of  his  loneliness 
since  the  death  of  his  second  wife,  and  begged 
her  photograph. 

"Read  it,"  she  said,  and  watched  his  face 
as  he  came  to  the  postscript.  Ffloyd  was  not 
easily  amused,  for  his  standard  for  humor  was 
both  strict  and  erratic,  and  he  scorned  to  pay 
in  laughter  for  anything  that  fell  below  the 

258 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

requirements;  but  he  gave  this  back  with  a 
muffled  "H'h!"  of  appreciation. 

"I  told  you  you  were  too  nice  to  Cousin 
Nettie,"  was  his  comment.  "How  shall  you 
get  out  of  it?" 

"I  shan't,"  was  the  somewhat  depressed  an- 
swer. 

"You  are  not  going  to  have  that  girl  on 
your  hands!" 

"We  played  together,  Lorrimer,  in  a  big 
willow  tree.    She  says  so.    Besides,  I  remem- 
ber it  now — she  was  several  years  younger 
than  I.    We  kept  house." 
"Stuff!" 

"And  she  wants  it  so  awfully." 
"What  if  she  does!" 
"I  don't  see  why  you  mind!" 
Ffloyd  did  mind.     He  had  so  many  objec- 
tions to  offer  that  Donna?  combatting  them, 
succeeding  in  convincing  herself  that  no  other 
course  was  open  to  her. 

"But  I  don't  want  an  Earnest  Lemon  sitting 
about  here  every  time  I  come  in,"  he  finally 
burst  out,  goaded  into  giving  his  real  objec- 
tion. "I  think  she  will  be  an  infernal  nuisance, 
if  you  ask  me."  His  scornful  version  of  the 
name  brought  a  ripple  of  amusement. 

259 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

"You  will  love  it,"  she  assured  him. 
"Ernestine  will  look  on  you  as  a  famous  ar- 
tist, and  be  breathless  over  meeting  you;  and 
if  you  will  make  a  little  sketch  for  her,  she 
will  be  thrilled  to  her  very  toes,  and  always 
save  that  first  when  the  house  burns  down.  I 
know.  I  was  that  way  once  myself." 

"  'Where  are  they  now^  the  glory  and  the 
dream?'  "  murmured  Ffloyd.  "You  are  rash, 
Donna.  I  may  fall  in  love  with  her." 

"Why  shouldn't  you?"  was  the  placid  an- 
swer. 

"You  wouldn't  care  a  damn,  I  suppose." 
He  rose  irritably,  taking  his  hat. 

"Don't  be  cross,  Lorrimer;  it  hurts  my  feel- 
ings." 

"Your  feelings!  You  haven't  got  any.  You 
are  too  literary  to  feel.  Don't  you  ever  get 
tired  of  this  beastly  good-comrade  busi- 
ness?" 

Donna  looked  him  over  consideringly.  "My 
dear  boy,  you  need  exercise,"  she  concluded. 
"If  you  will  wait  till  I  put  on  my  things " 

But  he  was  gone,  banging  the  door  behind 
him.  He  had  shown  this  peevishness  several 
times  lately,  and  she  looked  after  him  with 
wondering  disapproval.  Then,  after  finish- 

260 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

ing  her  letter,  she  dressed  at  comfortable 
leisure  and  started  out.  At  the  doors  below 
she  found  Ffloyd,  waiting  in  huddled  patience 
against  the  keen  north  wind. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  take  a  walk,"  he 
said  aggrievedly  as  he  fell  into  step  beside 
her. 

"So  I  do,"  was  the  mild  answer  that  turned 
away  wrath. 

They  walked  themselves  into  their  usual 
harmony,  and,  later,  went  to  dinner  together 
in  good-comradeship  of  the  most  flagrant 
kind.  Indeed,  they  became  so  friendly  that, 
with  four  elbows  on  the  table  and  the  black 
coffee  steaming  between  them,  a  secret  that 
Donna  had  been  cherishing  got  out  of  her 
control.  She  had  been  longing  to  tell  for  four 
excited  weeks,  and  at  the  first  taste  of  coffee 
she  knew  that  she  must. 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  breathe  it?"  she 
began.  "I  didn't  mean  to  tell  any  one,  not 
even  Paul.  But  it  is  so  thrilling,  I  must." 

A  shadow  had  crossed  Lorrimer's  face,  but 
she  was  too  absorbed  to  notice,  and  he  prom- 
ised cheerfully  enough.  She  let  her  chin 
drop  on  her  clasped  hands  for  a  moment  of 
hesitation. 

261 


THE    TOP.   OF.   THE  MORNING 

"Oh,  I  shan't  mind  your  knowing,"  she  de- 
cided. "I  am  doing  it^  Lorrimer.  I  began 
last  month." 

"Your  novel?"  he  asked  quickly. 

She  nodded  impressively.  "My  first  darling 
novel.  Of  course,  it  is  poor  and  crude  and 
silly;  but  it's  a  grown  up  novel  with  a  prob- 
lem and  a  plot  and — oh,  everything.  My  dear, 
I  am  a  real  author  at  last." 

"Bully!"  said  Ffloyd,  so  explosively  that 
neighboring  diners  looked  round.  He  was 
unaffectedly  excited.  No  one  had  such  a 
splendid  generosity  of  interest  as  Lorrimer, 
once  he  was  roused.  He  had  to  know  all  her 
plan  of  campaign,  and  they  sent  the  waiter 
for  a  sheet  of  paper,  that  they  might  block 
out  the  chapters  and  study  their  sequence. 
Ffloyd  was  very  strict  about  balance  and  pro- 
portion and  other  structural  qualities  that 
Donna,  absorbed  in  the  individual  scenes, 
wanted  to  ignore.  He  drew  diagrams  to  ex- 
press the  proper  development  of  the  plot,  with 
hillocks  of  event  increasing  to  mountains  of 
climax,  and  Donna  insisted  on  rival  diagrams 
of  converging  zigzags ;  and  when  at  last  they 
leaned  back  with  a  laugh,  their  hands  press- 
ing scarlet  cheeks1  they  discovered  that  the 

262 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

room  had  emptied  and  that  the  lights  were 
going  out. 

"Is  there  any  life  in  the  world  as  good  as 
ours?"  she  exclaimed.  "You  have  been  so 
dear  and  helpful,  Lorrimer." 

Ffloyd  was  printing,  in  beautiful  script, 
"Donna's  First  Novel,"  across  the  top  of  the 
scribbled  sheet. 

"You  want  to  keep  this,"  he  said.  "We 
must  get  together  on  it  again  before  long." 

"But  don't  forget  and  speak  of  it  before 
the  others,"  she  warned  him,  rising.  "I  don't 
want  to  be  asked  how  it  is  getting  on.  Be- 
sides, it  can't  really  be  any  good.  I  probably 
shan't  finish  it." 

Ffloyd,  holding  her  coat  for  her,  smiled  be- 
hind his  glasses. 

"Your  modesty  is  of  the  incorrigible  kind, 
Donnie,"  he  said.  "I  used  to  hope  that  I 
could  break  you  of  it — but  I  give  up." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  modesty.  I  simply  know,  that's 
all,"  said  Donna  cheerfully.  "But  it  is  pretty 
good  for  me,  isn't  it?  O  Lorrimer,  I  do  hope 
Paul  will  like  it!" 

Three  straight  chairs,  a  rocker  and  a  piano 
stool  were  drawn  up  to  Donna's  little  round 

263 


THE    TOP.   OF   THE  MORNING 

table,  which  was  set  with  a  bravely  mixed  col- 
lection of  china  and  silver.  Paul  and  Char- 
lotte, arriving  early,  found  Ffloyd  already 
there,  and  somewhat  injured  at  being  forbid- 
den to  smoke,  while  Donna,  covered  to  her 
throat  in  a  big  apron,  was  attending  to  last 
details  in  a  hectic  kitchenette,  which  had  evi- 
dently undertaken  the  labors  of  a  full  grown 
kitchen.  They  looked  in  on  her  with  offers 
of  help. 

"How  is  the  Earnest  Lemon?"  they  added. 
Lorrimer's  name  had  stuck. 

Donna  hesitated,  smiling  to  herself,  and  ab- 
sently filling  the  chocolate  pot  until  it  ran 
over. 

"Why,  she  is  enormously  pretty.  (Oh, 
dear — Charlotte,  throw  me  that  dish  towel.) 
She  is  little  and  soft  and  kitteny — awfully 
trustful  and  admiring,  don't  you  know?  I 
thought  her  a  good  deal  of  a  duck,  myself, 
and  yet  I  wasn't — perfectly — certain —  Well, 
you  will  see.  I  have  only  met  her  the  once, 
and — she  trembled,  Paul.  Her  hands  shook. 
At  meeting  me!"  Donna  was  pitiful  rather 
than  amused. 

"I  can  understand  trembling  at  a  meeting 
264 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

with  you,  Donna;"  Ffloyd's  voice  was  at  its 
driest,  and  no  one  heeded  him. 

"Lorrimer  came  in,  so  she  only  stayed  a  lit- 
tle while,"  Donna  went  on.  "She  was  dying 
to  stay,  yet  she  had  to  go — don't  you  remember 
that  stage?" 

"She  looks  in  your  face  as  if  she  expected  a 
cuckoo  to  come  out,"  observed  Lorrimer. 

"Well,  if  nothing  more  startling  than  a 
cuckoo  ever  came  out  of  our  faces — !"  said 
Charlotte,  sighing.  "Children,  do  remem- 
ber that  she  is  not  used  to  you.  Paul  really 
does  go  too  far." 

"I  am  not  a  patch  on  Cameron,"  was  the 
indignant  protest.  The  boy's  name  always  set 
them  smiling. 

"You  must  give  her  her  money's  worth," 
put  in  Donna.  "Meeting  you  is  a  tremendous 
event,  to  her.  Won't  you  all  appear  as  famous 
as  you  can?" 

It  was  an  inspiring  idea,  and  they  were  ri- 
valling each  other  at  "appearing  famous" 
when  the  guest  arrived. 

Miss  Lemoyne,  offering  her  small,  soft 
hand,  certainly  was  a  dear  little  person.  She 
looked  up  into  each  face  with  starry  intent- 
ness,,  as  if  she  had  told  herself,  "This  is  the 

265 


THE    TOP    OF   THE  MORNING 

great  moment  of  my  life."  Then  she  sat  on  the 
edge  of  a  chair  and  confronted  them  as  though 
the  curtain  were  about  to  go  up.  And,  of 
course,  it  did  go  up.  Not  one  of  them  was 
impervious  to  such  stimulation  as  that.  They 
were  appearing  very  famous  indeed — very 
bold  and  gay  and  witty — by  the  time  supper 
was  on  the  table.  Miss  Lemoyne,  politely 
given  the  rocking  chair,  sent  a  sigh  of  content 
into  the  momentary  lull  that  followed  their 
seating. 

"Are  all  the  other  writers  and  artists  like 
you?"  she  asked,  with  a  simplicity  of  admira- 
tion that  made  them  laugh. 

"God  forbid!"  said  Ffloyd. 

"Are  all  the  nice  girls  in  Middleford  like 
you?"  asked  Paul,  with  his  warming  smile. 
She  sent  a  tiny  smile  back,  but  Donna  an- 
swered for  her: 

"When  they  are  as  nice  as  Ernestine,  they 
leave  Middleford.  Don't  you  find  Detroit 
vastly  better  fun?" 

Ernestine's  eyelids  drooped,  giving  her  lit- 
tle face  for  the  moment  a  veiled  look.  "We 
have  only  just  gone  there,"  she  said.  "Mother 
never  leaves  her  room.  I — I  get  what  fun 
I  can.  Donna^  did  you  really  cook  all  this?" 

266 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

It  was  a  question  to  go  straight  to  Donna  s 
heart.  Her  writing  she  took  simply  enough, 
but  she  was  frankly  vain  of  her  cooking.  She 
would  have  given  Ernestine  all  her  best  recipes 
on  the  spot  if  the  others  had  not  objected. 

"Miss  Lemoyne  can  read  all  that  in  any 
home  magazine,"  Ffloyd  declared.  "She  has 
come  here  to  get  into  the  atmosphere  of  art — 
haven't  you,  Miss  Lemoyne?  You  don't  want 
Hints  for  the  Housewife." 

She  had  her  little  breathless  smile  for  every 
appeal.  "I  know  a  literary  lady  who  writes 
for  the  Detroit  papers,"  she  ventured.  "She 
has  published  a  book  on  'Mushroom  Raising 
in  the  Home' — do  you  know  it?  By  Augusta 
Tilly.  She  adores  your  stories  just  the  way  I 
do.  I  lend  her  my  copies  of  the  old  ones.  I 
have  them  all,  you  know." 

Donna  shrank  from  the  na'ive  tribute. 
"Ernestine  is  a  perfect  guest,"  she  said  with  a 
defensive  laugh.  "I  believe  one  could  even 
read  one's  unpublished  works  to  her,  she  is  so 
polite." 

"Oh,  if  you  only  would!"  Ernestine  flushed 
with  eagerness.  Charlotte  laughed. 

"That  is  pure  bluff,  Miss  Lemoyne,"  she 
explained.  "Torture  couldn't  make  Donna 

267 


THE    TOP    OF    THE  MORNING 

read  her  own  works  aloud.  She  refuses  to 
join  authors'  readings  at  the  rate  of  two  a 
month." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  Ffloyd  began. 

"I  know  you  don't,"  Donna  interrupted. 
"You  would  read  your  works  on  every  occa- 
sion, if  they  were  readable.  Wouldn't  he, 
Paul?" 

"Most  of  us  would,^  if  we  were  properly 
asked!" 

"Miss  Tilly  sometimes  reads  me  her  news- 
paper paragraphs,"  said  Ernestine. 

"I  don't  mind  being  a  guest  of  honor," 
Donna  went  on.  "There  is  a  club  up  in  De- 
troit, Ernestine,  that  has  asked  me  several 
times.  If  they  do  it  again,  I  will  accept,  and 
we  will  have  a  visit  together.  Then  we 
can — "  She  broke  off,  startled,  for  she  thought 
that  the  color  had  suddenly  left  her  guest's 
face;  but  the  change,  if  there  were  one,  was 
so  fleeting  that  she  could  not  be  sure  she  saw 
aright. 

"That  would  be  too  lovely!"  Ernestine  was 
saying  in  her  soft  little  voice.  Neither  Char- 
lotte nor  Ffloyd  seemed  to  have  noticed  any- 
thing, but  Paul's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  ques- 
tioningly. 

368 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

"Don't  count  on  it.  Miss  Lemoyne,"  he  said. 
"Donna  always  thinks  that  she  will  do  it  next 
time,  but  she  never  does."  Donna  was  watch- 
ing, too,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  little 
guest  looked  relieved.  Ffloyd  was  still  trying 
to  be  heard  in  defence  of  authors'  readings. 

"If  it  is  a  question  of  taste,"  he  insisted,  "I 
don't  consider  reading  your  works  aloud  any 
worse  than  being  interviewed  and  photo- 
graphed. Charlotte,  do  you  know  that  I  found 
cameras  all  over  the  place  here,  the  other  day, 
and  Donna  telling  the  story  of  her  life  to  a 
brazen  young  woman  from  a  newspaper?  If 
that  isn't  vain-glory " 

"But  it  wasn't  a  newspaper,"  Donna  broke 
in.  "It  is  for  The  Litterati;  they  are  running 
a  series  on  Our  Younger  Writers,  and  they 
are  devoting  a  number  to  me.  There  is  some 
dignity  in  that.  Besides,  it  helps  sell  things. 
And  I  hated  it?  anyway."  Her  somewhat 
feminine  processes  made  them  laugh. 

"I  was  chief  lion  at  a  woman's  club  once," 
Ffloyd  admitted. 

"And  you  liked  it,"  said  Donna  with  scorn. 
"I  could  have  forgiven  your  doing  it,  with 
loathing — but  not  your  enjoying  it."  Ernestine 
unexpectedly  came  to  his  defense. 

269 


THE    TOP    OF   THE  MORNING 

"But  it  was  so  lovely  to  do  it,"  she  urged. 
"You  don't  know  how  wonderful  it  is  to — to 
meet  people  like  you." 

Ffloyd  was  touched.  "Does  it  feel  wonder- 
ful, this  minute?"  he  asked,  turning  to  her 
with  the  interest  of  the  experimenter. 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"Then  we  ought  to  deserve  it  more,  give  you 
more  of  a  sensation.  I  shall  make  you  a  pic- 
ture to  remember  me  by."  And,  pushing  aside 
his  plate,  he  ran  inquiring  ringers  across  the 
embroidered  doily  that  had  been  under  it. 

"Not  on  that,"  commanded  his  hostess,  ris- 
ing to  find  paper  for  him. 

"Why  not?    Oh,  be  a  sport,  Donna!" 

She  refused  to  give  up  her  household  linen, 
and  Ffloyd  grew  frankly  cross  about  it.  Donna 
left  him  alone,  for  discipline,  turning  her  at- 
tention to  Paul — a  move  that  usually  brought 
Lorrimer  back  at  once,  visibly  chastened;  but 
when  she  looked  round  to  relent,  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  she  found  him  smiling  over 
Ernestine's  little  murmurs,  and  meekly  draw- 
ing a  caricature  of  himself  on  the  despised 
sheet  of  paper. 

"She  is  no  fool,  that  girl,"  Donna  admitted, 
and  rose  to  change  the  plates,  glad  of  an  ex- 

270 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

cuse  to  leave  the  table.  Her  party  had  sud- 
denly got  on  her  nerves.  When  she  took  her 
place  again,  Ernestine  was  holding  her  sketch 
in  both  hands,  as  something  too  precious  to 
be  trusted  to  one  alone,  and  Ffloyd's  expres- 
sion was  not  that  of  one  who  had  been  disci- 
plined. 

"Now  if  Donna  would  only  let  me  read  one 
of  her  stories  in  manuscript,  I  should  go  home 
perfectly  happy,"  she  said. 

"My  dear  girl,  I  will  present  you  with  a 
carbon  copy  of  the  last  one  I  have  written," 
Donna  conceded,  ashamed  of  her  secret  impa- 
tience. 

Ernestine  was  a  marked  success.  She  made 
them  feel  romantic,  dashing.  Had  she  come 
out  of  her  shyness^  she  might  have  spoiled 
it;  but  the  rosy  veil  was  never  once  lifted. 
She  was  as  watchful  as  some  little  animal 
creeping  in  from  the  woods.  Charlotte  frank- 
ly loved  her,  and  Paul  grew  almost  paternal 
in  his  kindness,  while  all  the  experimenter  in 
Ffloyd  was  roused.  In  his  determination  to 
make  her  "eat  out  of  his  hand,"  as  he  defined 
it,  he  took  her  off  into  the  window  seat  while 
the  others  cleared  the  table;  and  at  Donna's 

271; 


suggestion  they  purposely  lingered  over  the 
work. 

"Lorrimer  is  quite  struck,"  she  said  gaily, 
piling  plates  in  the  little  kitchen.  "Do  give 
him  a  chance." 

"We  are  none  of  us  quite  good  enough  to  be 
left  alone  with  her,"  said  Charlotte.  "She  is 
such  a  little  white  flower  of  a  person." 

"She  didn't  want  me  to  come  to  Detroit;" 
Donna  spoke  abruptly. 

"Yes,  I  saw  that,"  exclaimed  Paul.  "I 
thought  perhaps  they  were  very  poor,  at  home, 
and  the  little  thing  didn't  want  you  to  see  it. 
You  have  made  her  perfectly  happy,  Donna." 

"To  say  nothing  of  Lorrimer,"  Charlotte 
added. 

Donna  smiled,  rather  wickedly.  "I  wonder 
if  he  remembers  what  he  called  her?" 

"Don't.  I  am  ashamed  we  let  him,"  Char- 
lotte protested.  "She  is  a  dear  child;  I  feel 
like  a  weather-beaten  old  town  rake,  beside 
her." 

"Well,  you  know;  she  must  be  twenty-four 
at  least,"  said  Donna,  apologetic  for  mention- 
ing it,  but  forced  into  it  by  the  general  atmos- 
phere. 

When  Miss  Lemoyne  lef^  two  hours  later, 

272 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

she  had  a  typewritten  copy  of  "The  Clock 
Struck  One,"  properly  autographed,  clasped 
tightly  against  her  side,  and  she  had  accepted 
invitations  from  them  allj  but  notably  from 
Lorrimer  Ffloyd,  who  was  evidently  planning 
to  show  her  the  town.  Charlotte  insisted  on 
going  home  with  her,  to  Ffloyd's  visible  an- 
noyance. 

"Lorrimer  is  so  reckless  when  he  is  after  a 
new  experience,"  she  explained  to  Donna  as 
she  put  on  her  wraps.  "One  feels  responsible 
for  the  little  thing." 

Donna  had  an  unkind  feeling  that  the  little 
thing  could  look  out  for  herself;  but  was 
ashamed  of  it  when  Ernestine's  trustful  eyes 
looked  straight  up  into  hers,  at  parting. 

"I  have  a  horrid  nature,"  she  told  herself 
sharply  when  she  was  alone. 

Ffloyd's  curiosity  was  destined  to  remain 
unsatisfied.  The  next  day  brought  them  all 
sorry,  childlike  notes  from  Miss  Lemoyne, 
saying  that  her  mother  needed  her,  and  that 
she  had  to  go  back  at  once.  She  would  never 
forget  that  brilliant  evening. 

"I  wonder  just  why  she  went?"  mused 
Donna ;  and  then  was  again  ashamed.  Lorri- 
mer was  annoyed  at  the  news?  and  talked 

273 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

vaguely  of  going  to  Detroit,  but,  when  Donna 
encouraged  the  idea,  he  gave  it  up.  He  talked 
of  her  and  her  snowdrop  quality  a  good  deal 
in  the  weeks  that  followed,  and  Donna  agreed 
with  everything  he  said1  a  novel  and  irritating 
experience. 

Donna  toiled  at  her  book,  now  happily,  now 
with  despair,  and  breathed  no  word  of  it  even 
to  Paul.  Beneath  the  instinctive  secrecy  of 
her  gift  and  her  fear  of  failure  was  a  child- 
like desire  to  surprise  them  with  the  completed 
work.  Its  final  appearance  before  the  public 
would  be  a  tame  and  pallid  incident  beside 
the  moment  when  she  should  lay  down  the 
manuscript  before  them  and  confess  that  she 
had  "done  it."  Ffloyd  worked  over  it  almost 
as  hard  as  she  did,  with  an  interest  and  en- 
thusiasm that  touched  her  deeply.  She  was 
one  of  the  very  few  who  had  seen  the  possi- 
bilities for  beauty  in  Ffloyd's  difficult  nature, 
but  these  days  brought  her  a  new  knowledge 
of  him  that  startled  as  well  as  moved  her.  She 
was  ashamed  that  he  should  be  so  gentle  with 
her,  so  patiently  absorbed  in  her  concerns. 
Something  was  quelling  him.  He  could  be 
gay  enough,  alone  with  her,  but  at  their  Sun- 
day gatherings  his  face  was  often  sad.  Paul 

274 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

saw  it,  and  finally  questioned  Donna  on  the 
subject,  keen  eyes  on  her  unconscious  face. 
They  had  lingered  in  the  dining  room  after 
the  others  had  left  the  table. 

"I  know.  I  have  wondered  if  he  wasn't 
simply  growing  older,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
"You  don't  know  how  sweet  and  considerate 
and — human,  someway,  he  is  becoming.  No 
one  can  be  as  dear  as  Lorrimerj  when  he's 
good." 

"You  see  a  good  deal  of  him?"  Paul  asked 
carelessly,  balanced  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"Oh,  every  other  day,  perhaps;"  Donna  evi- 
dently did  not  consider  that  a  high  average. 

"He  never  comes  to  my  place  any  more." 

She  paused  before  him,  a  laugh  in  her  eyes. 
"Well,  you  know,  Paul,"  she  began,  hesitated, 
then  went  on  in  a  confidential  rush,  "it  al- 
ways has  made  Lorrimer  a  little  tired  1" 

"What  has?" 

"Why,  the  way  we  all  adore  you!"  Her 
eyes  were  as  frank  as  her  laugh.  "He  doesn't 
like  having  any  one  so  much  in  the  center, 
don't  you  see?  It  is  a  sort  of  general  jeal- 
ousy." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Paul,  and  suddenly  laid  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  "Donna,  you  are  the 

275 


THE   TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

nicest  child  in  the  world,"  he  added  irrele- 
vantly, a  laugh  in  his  eyes. 

"Well,  it's  true,"  she  protested. 

When  they  went  back  to  the  other  room, 
Lorrimer  had  gone. 

"He  simply  rose  and  left,  with  no  words," 
Charlotte  explained.  "He  may  intend  to 
come  back;  he  certainly  did  not  say  good- 
night." 

"He  isn't  what  you'd  call  the  life  of  the 
party,  nowadays,"  observed  Cameron. 

"I  think  he  is  still  pining  for  Ernestine 
Lemoyne,"  said  Donna  cheerfully. 

Ffloyd  did  not  come  back?  but  he  appeared 
at  Donna's  door  the  next  afternoon  in  his 
usual  spirits;  and  his  average  for  that  week 
was  nearer  every  day,  had  she  noticed  it.  He 
was  "dearer"  than  ever,  stimulating  and  sym- 
pathetic, showing  that  strange  new  patience 
when  she  was  braced  for  scorn  and  attack. 
Age  or  success  or  something  was  working  a 
mellowing  change.  It  was  of  him  rather  than 
of  her  work  that  she  was  thinking  on  Satur- 
day morning  as  she  stood  running  absent  eyes 
down  the  columns  of  the  newspaper. 

Her  own  name  caught  her  attention.  It 
was  not  an  unusual  sight  in  the  literary  para- 

276 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

graphs,  and  she  paused  amusedly  to  read;  but 
the  first  line  struck  the  light  out  of  her  face. 
There  stood  her  secret^  printed  for  all  to  read: 
her  "forthcoming  novel,"  "the  first  from  her 
gifted  pen,"  hints  of  its  plot  and  characters, 
veiled  suggestions  of  its  problem:  all  horribly 
accurate.  And  she  had  not  told  a  soul  on  earth 
but  Lorrimer  Ffloyd. 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't!"  she  cried,  and  cast  about 
for  explanation.  She  might  have  lost  that  first 
chart,  which  they  had  worked  out  together  in 
the  cafe;  but  she  had  brought  it  home  and 
made  a  copy  of  it  on  her  typewriter  the  same 
night,  and  both  copj  and  original  lay  in  her 
desk  drawer,  to  prove  it.  "But  he  wouldn't," 
she  repeated.  Work  was  impossible.  Dis- 
appointment that  her  secret  was  out  was 
nothing,  forgotten  and  swallowed  up  in  a  mis- 
ery of  dread.  She  tried  to  see  it  from  another 
point  of  view,  to  say  that  the  secret  had  been 
too  trivial  to  be  rigorously  kept,  that  it  might 
have  been  told  through  inadvertence;  but  her 
straight  young  spirit  could  make  of  it  nothing 
but  betrayal.  Broken  faith  was  broken  faith, 
in  little  things  or  in  big. 

"He  didn't!"  she  cried  again. 

She  could  not  go  to  him  and  ask  him;  but 

277 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

it  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  ask  the  paper. 
After  what  seemed  hours  of  telephoning — ex- 
plaining and  waiting  and  doing  it  all  over 
again — the  information  came:  the  paragraph 
in  question  had  been  taken  from  a  Detroit 
newspaper,  which  had  published  it  in  a  col- 
umn headed  Chit  Chat  About  People.  The 
literary  editor  politely  hoped  that  she  was 
not  going  to  deny  it. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Donna  faintly,  and  cut  off 
with  little  ceremony  an  evident  willingness  to 
interview  her.  Ernestine,  of  course,  and  the 
literary  lady,  her  friend,  who  wrote  for  the 
papers;  but  how  had  Ernestine  known?  Re- 
membering the  girl's  interest  in  her  work,  and 
the  half  hour  in  the  window  seat  alone  with 
Ffloyd,  after  supper,  Donna  saw  it  all,  and  a 
red  wave  of  anger  crossed  her  face.  On  the 
trail  of  a  new  experience,  Ffloyd  was  ruthless 
as  well  as  reckless;  and  he  had  used  her  secret 
as  a  bait.  Ernestine,  poor  little  thing,  was 
not  to  be  blamed  for  betraying  a  confidence 
that  was  given  her  so  lightly.  It  was  Lorri- 
mer  who  had  violated  the  deepest  law  of 
loyalty. 

"He  didn't,"  sprang  from  her  heart,  but 
278 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

faltered  at  her  lips.  There  was  no  other  ex- 
planation. 

The  evening  mail  brought  five  letters  from 
publishers  congratulating  her  on  the  forth- 
coming novel  and  hoping  that  they  might  have 
the  privilege  of  reading  it.  Lorrimer  did  not 
come,  vastly  to  Donna's  relief.  Sooner  or 
later  they  must  have  it  outj  but  she  was  still  too 
sick  of  soul  to  face  it. 

Sunday,  to  Donna,  was  a  day  that  doubled 
happiness,  but  trebled  any  sorrow  or  care. 
Her  spirit  then  took  on  a  finer  sensitiveness, 
saw  more  widely  what  life  gave  and  what  it 
withheld.  Longings  that  the  week's  cheerful 
industry  held  in  check  filled  the  seventh  day 
with  dreams  and  unrest,  and  the  bells,  coming 
in  at  the  windows  on  the  morning  sunlight, 
could  bring  a  sadness  more  exquisite  than  joy. 
But  to  awake  to  trouble  was  to  confront  blight 
and  desolation.  Donna's  life,  usually  so  full 
and  radiant,  hung  a  dead  weight  on  her  hands 
all  the  long  day  that  followed.  Disappoint- 
ment in  a  friend,  bitter  though  it  was,  did 
not  seem  adequate  cause  for  such  bleak  misery, 
and  she  blamed  it  hotly  to  the  day — the 
wretched  day,  made  to  mock  people  who  had 
not  great  warm  homes.  She  had  thought  at 

279 


THE    TOP    OF    THE  MORNING 

first  that  she  would  not  go  to  Charlotte's  to 
supper,  but,  when  the  time  came,  she  was  too 
miserable  to  resist.  Even  encountering  Lor- 
rimer  could  not  be  so  bad  as  another  hour  of 
those  silent,  empty  rooms. 

Charlotte's  front  door  had  been  left  ajar 
for  her,  and  laughter  sounded  from  the  sitting 
room.  From  the  hall  she  could  see  them 
grouped  about  the  table,  bent  over  something 
that  Charlotte  was  reading  aloud,  and  an  echo 
of  her  own  name  made  her  falter.  She  had 
come  nerved  for  excitement  about  her  novel, 
but  not  for  hearing  the  paragraph  read  before 
Ffloyd's  shamed  eyes.  When  she  saw  that  he 
was  not  there,  the  words  began  to  reach  her: 

" for  this  young  authoress  is  as  talented 

with  a  saucepan  as  with  her  pen,  and  many  a 
dainty  feast " 

"What  on  earth  are  you  reading?"  Donna's 
voice  made  them  look  up  with  a  laugh,  and 
they  widened  the  circle  to  admit  her,  signing 
for  her  not  to  interrupt;  but  she  seized  the 
magazine  with  a  relieved,  "Oh,  that!"  The 
new  number  of  The  Litter ati  was  out,  with 
the  expected  article  on  her  and  her  works,  and 
blurred,  impressionistic  photographs  showing 
Donna  in  a  thoughtful  attitude  at  the  desk, 

280 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

and  Donna,  prettily  feminine,  watering  her 
window  plants,  and  Donna,  high-aproned,  be- 
fore the  gas  stove.  Amusement  at  the  text 
brought  her  spirits  up  a  little,  giving  her  cour- 
age to  play  her  usual  part.  Ffloyd  did  not 
come  to  face  her,  and,  though  this  was  a  re- 
lief, it  was  a  further  disappointment  in  him. 
Evidently  none  of  the  others  had  happened  to 
read  about  the  forthcoming  novel  from  her 
gifted  pen,  so  she  was  spared  that,  as  yet.  Paul 
went  home  with  her,  and,  as  they  left  the  other 
two  at  the  lower  door,  she  put  her  hand 
through  his  arm  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Paul,  did  you  ever  betray  a  secret?"  she 
asked  wistfully. 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  was  the  reluctant  answer. 
"There  aren't  many  sins  I  haven't  committed, 
one  way  or  another." 

She  thought  that  over,  then  went  on  with 
evident  effort:  "But  did  you  ever  tell  one 
woman's  secret  to  another  woman?" 

"No!" 

"I  thought  not."  She  drew  closer  to  him. 
"Now  we  will  change  the  subject,"  she  said 
with  a  sigh  as  they  turned  the  corner.  Neither 
of  them  had  noticed  a  loitering  figure  that 
had  waited  across  the  street  for  over  an  hour, 


THE    TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

watching  the  door  of  the  apartment  house,  and 
that  now  turned  away  with  drooped  head  and 
dragging  feet. 

They  all  heard  of  her  novel  within  the  next 
day  or  two,  and  called  up  or  came  in  to.  re- 
joice over  it  and  scold  her  for  her  secrecy.  It 
would  have  been  almost  as  good  fun  as  her 
planned  denouement  if  she  could  only  have 
got  the  ache  out  of  her  heart.  That  clung  like 
a  thorn,  and  no  shrugging  or  philosophy  could 
soften  it.  For  five  days  Lorrimer  did  not 
come,  and  she  would  not  make  it  easier  for 
him  by  sending  a  summons.  She  scarcely  left 
the  house,  her  dread  of  missing  him  being  al- 
most as  acute  as  her  dread  of  a  meeting.  She 
had  given  up  hope,  late  Friday  afternoon,  and 
was  starting  out  for  some  air  when  she  came 
face  to  face  with  him  at  her  threshold.  He 
had  not  rung  the  bell ;  he  seemed  to  have  been 
leaning  against  the  wall,  staring  at  the  closed 
door,  and  at  its  opening  he  made  no  move. 
There  was  a  gray  weariness  in  his  face  that 
shocked  her. 

"Are  you  coming  in?"  she  asked.  There 
had  been  no  attempt  at  smile  or  greeting. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  and  followed  her 
with  dragging  step.  They  sat  down  facing 

282 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

each  other  like  conventional  strangers.  When 
the  silence  had  lasted  unbearably,  he  pushed 
his  palm  heavily  across  his  forehead. 

"It  is  almost  too  much  trouble  to  begin, 
isn't  it?"  he  said.  "I  am  half  dazed — I  haven't 
slept  for  so  long.  Don't  mind  if  I  appear 
rather  drunk."  Again  he  tried  to  rub  away 
the  mists  with  his  hands.  "Have  you  wondered 
at  my  not  showing  up?" 

"No."  The  grave  syllable  roused  him, 
bringing  him  up  sharply  to  the  situation. 

"You  know  why  I  have  stayed  away?"  he 
asked,  looking  into  her  face  for  the  first  time. 

"I  think  so."  At  her  sombre  tone,  he 
turned  away  with  a  short  laugh. 

"You  don't  have  to  pronounce  sentence,"  he 
said.  "I  can  see.  Hie  jacet  Lorrimer  Ffloyd." 

His  attempt  at  levity  jarred  on  her.  "O 
Lorrimer,  when  we  were  such  good  friends!" 
she  cried.  "How  could  you  go  and  spoil 
everything?" 

"I  didn't  mean  to,  Donnie." 

His  gentleness  almost  unnerved  her.  "I 
had  such  faith  in  our  friendship,"  she  said 
unsteadily.  "It  was  one  of  the  solid  things  in 
my  life — like  a  mother,  or  a  religion.  I 
never  thought  about  itt  it  was  so^  sure  and 

283 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

sound — just  took  it  whole,  like  the  power  to 
breathe.  I  would  have  trusted  you  with  my 
most  sacred  secret.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do." 

He  was  looking  on  with  an  odd  little  smile. 
He  seemed  infinitely  old. 

"Well,  you  haven't  lost  my  friendship,  you 
know,"  he  reminded  her.  "Of  course,  you 
don't  want  it  now;  and  perhaps  I  couldn't — 
Well !  Time  may  work  it  out  for  us,  my  dear." 
He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand.  "Do  you  want 
me  to  say  I'm  sorry?" 

Looking  into  his  lined  face,  she  felt  sudden 
shame  at  hurting  him  so;  it  was  not  a  life  and 
death  matter!  Her  high  sense  of  outraged 
confidence  might?  after  all,  be  half  ignoble — 
an  unconfessed  jealousy  of  another  woman's 
power.  The  silent  admission  brought  a  great 
lightening  of  the  spirit.  She  took  his  hand 
in  both  hers  and  held  it  fast. 

"It's  all  right,  Lorrimer!  I  am  sorry,  too. 
We'll  begin  again  and  not  hurt  each  other  any 
more.  Don't  mind,  don't  be  troubled!"  The 
warm  voice  broke  and  tears  hid  him  from 
her;  but  she  felt  his  lips  touch  her  hand,  and 
then  heard  the  door  close.  She  longed  to  run 
after  him,  to  forgive  him  more  explicitly  and 

284 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

make  him  happy  again.  The  thought  that  he 
might  come  back  kept  her  waiting  and  lis- 
tening the  rest  of  the  day. 

Donna  awoke  the  next  morning  to  find  her- 
self back  in  her  old  cheerful  world.  She  was 
no  longer  wroth  with  one  she  loved,  and 
though  the  experience  had  left  her  sobered,  a 
little  older  in  spirit,  the  healing  warmth  of 
forgiveness  had  taken  away  the  pain.  Ffloyd 
would  come  back,  presently,  his  lesson  well 
learned,  and  they  would  be  as  close  friends  as 
ever. 

"Dear  old  boy,"  she  murmured,  looking 
over  her  letters  in  hope  of  one  from  him.  He 
had  not  written,  but  the  mail  nearly  always 
brought  something  to  show  or  tell  him.  To- 
day it  was  a  letter  forwarded  by  the  editor  of 
The  Litter ati,  with  humorous  comment  and 
a  copy  of  his  answer. 

"  EDITOR  Litter  ati, 

"DEAR  SIR: — I  regret  to  inform  you  that 
you  have  been  imposed  upon.  The  article  pur- 
porting to  describe  Miss  Donna  Herrick,  in 
your  recent  number,  was  evidently  written  by 
some  one  who  has  never  met  the  young  lady 
using  that  pen-name.  The  real  author  does 
not  live  in  New  York,  and  is  totally  different 


from  the  person  described  and  photographed. 
I  could  give  you  her  name  and  address  if  the 
few  who  know  had  not  been  pledged  to  se- 
crecy, the  author  having  a  modest  preference 
for  anonimity.  I  trust  that  you  will  have  the 
matter  cleared  up  and  the  impostor  disclosed. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  help  you,  either  privately  or 
through  the  columns  of  the  newspapers  I  rep- 
resent. Very  truly  yours, 

"(Miss)  AUGUSTA  TILLY/' 

"Well,  upon  my  word!"  said  Donna.  When 
she  noticed  that  the  letter  was  from  Detroit, 
she  recognized  the  name  as  that  of  Ernestine's 
literary  friend,  and  found  herself  more  be- 
wildered than  ever.  "The  woman's  crazy!" 
she  muttered.  She  wanted  to  send  it  to  Lorri- 
mer,  as  a  sign  that  they  were  back  on  the  old 
friendly  basis;  but  finally  decided  to  wait  until 
he  came  in.  It  might  be  well  to  have  some- 
thing at  hand  to  begin  on.  Her  nerves  had 
taken  to  strange  startings  at  the  sound  of  her 
doorbell. 

Several  days  passed  without  bringing  him; 
but  they  brought  a  growing  wonder  about  him. 
Something  in  the  situation  was  not  clear.  It 
seemed  simple  enough,  put  into  words;  but 
she  felt  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  more  be- 
hind, and  her  thoughts  fumbled  at  it  unceas- 

286 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

ingly.  She  had  almost  forgotten  Miss  Tilly 
and  her  charges  when  The  Litterati  forwarded 
a  second  letter: 

"DEAR  SIR:— 

"I  took  your  letter  to  the  real  'Donna  Her- 
rick,'  who  was  much  distressed  by  it.  She 
tells  me  that  she  has  been  troubled  before  by 
this  woman  in  New  York  who  pretends  to 
write  her  stories,  but  begged  me  to  let  the  mat- 
ter drop,  having  a  deep  dread  of  notoriety. 
She  refuses  to  demand  any  public  retraction  or 
explanation  from  you,  a  course  to  be  expected 
by  those  privileged  to  know  her  exquisitely  sen- 
sitive nature.  For  my  own  satisfaction,  how- 
ever, I  will  tell  you  that,  five  weeks  ago,  the 
real  'D.  H.'  read  to  me  and  two  other  close 
friends  and  admirers,  from  the  manuscript 
copy,  the  story  called,  'The  Clock  Struck 
One,'  which  is  advertised  to  appear  in  the  next 
number  of  Men  and  Women.  I  think  you 
will " 

The  letter  dropped  from  Donna's  hand. 

"Ernestine!"  she  gasped.    "My  Lord!" 

A  gust  of  laughter  followed.  Ernestine, 
the  little  white  flower,  the  dear  child  who 
worshipped  so  innocently  at  their  feet — oh,  it 
was  one  on  Charlotte  and  Paul  and  Lorrimer! 

"I  knew  that  girl  wasn't  straight,"  she  de- 
287 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

clared  aloud.  "I  knew  it,  but  I  thought  I  was 
jealous  and  unkind.  The  Earnest  Lemon — 
Oh!" 

Still  shaken  with  laughte^  she  wrote  all  the 
circumstances  to  the  editor,  explaining  how 
she  had  given  her  guest  a  copy  of  the  story  so 
triumphantly  brought  forward  as  proof. 

"She  has  had  a  dreary  life,  and  I  suppose 
this  is  her  first  taste  of  importance,"  she  went 
on.  "I  can  see  just  how  she  slipped  into  it — 
perhaps  through  a  misunderstanding,  at  first; 
and  then  found  it  too  good  to  give  up.  Why 
disturb  Miss  Tilly's  faith?  Let  her  keep  her 
little  private  glory — I  don't  mind.  This  may 
appear  unmoral,  but  she  is  an  appealing  little 
thing,  and  one  is  sorry  for  her.  It  isn't  as  if 
she  could  be  reformed!" 

It  was  late  afternoon  and  Charlotte  would 
probably  be  at  home,  so  Donna  put  on  her 
things  to  go  and  triumph  over  her.  As  she 
picked  up  Miss  Tilly's  letter,  a  sentence  at  the 
end  that  she  had  passed  over  caught  her  eye : 

"She  has  also  confided  to  me  the  outline  of 
her  first  novel,  on  which  she  is  now  at  work." 

At  the  reminder,  the  amusement  left  Don- 
na's face.  Even  after  his  admission  of  guilt, 
it  seemed  so  incredible  that  Ffloyd  should  have 

288 


THE  LITTLE  THING 

done  this  thing!  Opening  her  desk  drawer, 
she  took  out  the  memorable  first  draught  of 
her  book,  and  the  typed  copy  that  she  had 
made  when  she  came  in}  too  excited  for  sleep. 
Then,  as  she  looked  at  them,  a  startled  breath 
parted  her  lips.  This  was  a  carbon  copy,  not 
original  typing;  the  color  was  different  and 
the  letters  less  clear.  She  sank  down  on  the 
nearest  chair  in  a  tense  effort  to  remember. 
Evidently,  then,  there  had  been  two  copies; 
she  must  have  taken  the  carbon  and  the  second 
sheet  mechanically,  from  long  habit.  And 
the  other?  Gradually  it  came  back  to  her 
that  a  finished  story  had  lain  on  the  table  be- 
side the  machine:  "The  Clock  Struck  One," 
of  course — the  date  showed  that.  And  so  that 
extra  sheet  had  been  picked  up  with  the  other 
manuscript,  and  thus  passed  straight  into 
Ernestine's  soft,  unscrupulous  little  hands. 
And  Lorrimer  had  not  told  one  word. 

The  only  thought  in  Donna's  mind  was  to 
go  to  him,  to  be  absolved.  She  sped  through 
the  darkening  streets,  her  soul  far  ahead  of 
her  steps,  her  heart  half  broken  with  shame 
and  joy  and  surging  affection.  Not  till  she 
stopped,  panting,  at  the  foot  of  his  stairs  did 
any  other  thought  come  to  complicate  her  in- 

280 


tention.  But  there  a  new  memory  overtook 
her,  the  memory  of  his  strange  visit.  If  he 
was  not  guilty,  what  was  he  confessing? 

She  began  to  mount,  her  forehead  lined 
with  the  effort  to  reproduce  his  exact  words, 
that  troubled  day.  As  they  came,  her  feet 
moved  more  and  more  slowly^  a  secret  fear 
dawned  in  her  widening  eyes.  Many  things 
began  to  come  back  to  her  besides  his  words 
of  that  afternoon:  the  change  in  him,  his 
absorption  and  sadness,  his  abrupt  depar- 
ture, that  Sunday  night,  when  she  had  lingered 
in  the  dining  room  with  Paul — the  mis- 
chievous meaning  in  Paul's  eyes !  She  stopped 
short,  her  face  suddenly  drowned  in  color. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  recoiled,  her  hand 
tightly  clutching  the  banister.  Then  she 
turned  and  ran. 


290 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  GLAMOUR. 

OUSIN  AMELIA  was  a  somewhat  for- 
midable  guest,  even  for  a  simple  home 
luncheon;  but  Charlotte  blithely  prepared 
her  house  and  helped  her  little  cook 
and  put  on  with  pride  the  gown  she  had 
made  over  so  cleverly,  and  sent  Cameron  rush- 
ing down  when  the  bell  rang;  lest  an  English 
visitor  should  not  know  the  ways  of  Ameri- 
can flats  and  should  be  baffled  by  an  un- 
attended front  door  that  merely  clicked  in 
her  face.  They  were  a  long  time  com- 
ing up,  for  Cousin  Amelia  had  to  rest  sev- 
eral times  on  each  flight,  and  Charlotte  felt 
dampened  and  apologetic  when  they  arrived. 
But  the  guest,  if  breathless,  was  warmly  cor- 
dial, and  the  joy  of  hospitality  soon  rose  again. 
Charlotte  was  proud  of  this  imposing,  hand- 
some cousin-in-law,  proud  that  she  had  a  home 
in  which  to  receive  her  and  a  splendid  son  to 
show  her  and  a  full,  rich  life  to  tell  of  in 
answer  to  her  friendly  and  thorough  question- 

291' 


THE   TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

ing.  Cousin  Amelia  always  suggested  roy- 
alty momentarily  unconscious  of  its  rank. 
But  she  had  been  a  good  friend  in  the  early 
years  of  Charlotte's  widowhood,  and  her 
stately,  peaceful  Surrey  garden  was  a  grate- 
ful memory.  Charlotte  felt  a  sudden  home- 
sickness for  its  rich  seclusion  as  she  closed  a 
window  to  shut  out  the  roar  of  the  street.  She 
asked  about  the  housekeeper  and  the  dogs  and 
the  cross  old  peacock. 

"And  Cousin  Eustace?"  she  added,  smiling 
a  little.  Cousin  Eustace  was  a  younger  brother 
whose  delightfully  prim  little  estate  adjoined 
Cousin  Amelia's,  and  who  used  to  come 
through  the  gate  in  the  hedge  nearly  every 
afternoon  with  some  dry  little  errand — a  news- 
paper clipping  to  show,  a  stone  of  geological 
interest,  some  unusual  development  of  flower 
or  leaf.  His  errand  done,  he  always  rose  at 
once,  made  a  few  shy  remarks  standing,  his 
eyes  on  the  garden  borders  or  the  dogs  or  busy 
little  Cameron,  then  went  back  again.  He 
had  seemed  elderly  to  her,  ten  years  ago. 

"Why,  Eustace  is  here — or  will  be  tomor- 
row." Cousin  Amelia  was  always  surprised 
when  others  did  not  know  of  the  family  move- 

292 


THE  GLAMOUR 

ments.  "He  came  out  with  me,  you  know; 
but  he  is  stopping  a  few  weeks  longer." 

"Oh,  I  wish  he  would  come  to  see  me," 
Charlotte  exclaimed. 

"It  will  give  him  great  pleasure,"  was  the 
stately  answer. 

It  was  a  stimulating  afternoon,  with  the  im- 
palpable breath  of  rich  ease  in  the  air,  and 
the  friendliness  of  kinship  between  them. 
Charlotte  was  feeling  very  gay  with  its  suc- 
cess when  the  guest  rose  to  go. 

"I  wish  you  would  be  here  long  enough  to 
meet  my  very  dear  friends,"  she  said.  "They 
are  rather  unusua^  I  think;  they  make  my  life 
here  very  full." 

Cousin  Amelia,  cloaked  and  bonneted, 
kissed  her  warmly,  hesitated,  then  turned  back 
to  lay  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"My  dear,  I  must  tell  you  how  brave  I  think 
you  are;"  it  came  on  a  rush  of  dignified  im- 
pulse. "To  live  like  this  and  have  so  little 
and  work  so  hard — and  yet  be  so  happy,  so 
spirited — Charlotte,  I  honor  you  for  itl" 

Charlotte's  eyes  had  widened;  she  gave  a 
startled  glance  about.  "Of  course,  it  is  a  little 
hole,"  she  stammered. 

"Yes ;  but  you  are  bigger  than  your  circum- 

293 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

stances,"  was  the  resonant  answer.  "No  mat- 
ter how  poor  and  empty  a  life  may  be,  a  spirit 
like  yours  keeps  it  from  becoming  sordid.  I 
want  you  to  visit  me,  my  dear,  whenever  you 
are  in  England."  And  Cousin  Amelia  kissed 
her  again,  then  felt  for  a  banister  to  guide  her 
cautious  descent. 

Charlotte  went  slowly  back  to  the  sitting 
room  and  took  a  fresh  view  of  it,  still  with 
the  widened  eyes  of  dismay.  Of  course,  it 
was  only  a  flat,  her  home ;  but  it  was  such  a 
long  way  up  from  the  hall  bedroom  in  which 
she  had  begun  her  struggle.  She  could  feel 
now  the  baffled  jerk  or  the  screak  of  raked 
varnish  that  followed  any  attempt  to  rock  in 
the  spot  that  held  the  chair,  and  smell  the  gas 
stove  that  suffocated  her  when  she  was  tired 
of  freezing.  Two  rooms  and  "light  house- 
keeping" had  come  next,  and  seemed  luxury 
in  contrast;  and  before  their  glory  was 
dimmed,  success  had  arrived,  dear,  kindly  suc- 
cess, bringing  her  a  little  home  and  a  cook  and 
a  future  for  her  boy.  Courageous  to  be  happy, 
with  all  this!  She  rose  up  in  anger  at  the 
idea  and  went  quickly  from  room  to  room. 
Any  cheap  flat  was  a  hole  in  the  wall,  of 
course ;  but  nearly  all  the  rooms  were  outside, 

294 


THE  GLAMOUR 

and,  if  the  woodwork  was  shabby,  the  papers 
were  charming  and  the  furniture  distinctly 
not  bad.  A  poor,  empty  life,  with  work,  and 
such  a  son,  and  such  friends?  Charlotte  cried 
out  that  it  was  nonsense;  and,  even  as  she  pro- 
tested, sank  down  and  down  into  black  gloom. 
The  glamour  that  made  her  days  gay  had  sud- 
denly withered,  and  that  word  "sordid"  stuck 
like  a  thorn. 

"Cousin  Amelia  has  been  slumming,  and 
I  am  the  slum,"  she  said  with  dazed  bitter- 
ness. When  a  homely  smell  of  preparing  din- 
ner crept  in  from  the  kitchen,  she  shut  doors 
and  opened  windows  with  irritated  haste.  "I 
really  do  know  nice  from  horrid!"  she  mut- 
tered. 

The  glamour  did  not  easily  slip  off  life,  for 
Charlotte.  Once  in  a  while  she  chafed  a  lit- 
tle at  the  cramping  limitations  of  poverty,  but 
good  humoredly,  not  forgetting  the  reality 
of  her  wealth  in  unmaterial  things,  or  the  mass 
of  misery  just  beyond  her  doors  that  called  her 
state  luxury.  By  the  grace  of  health  and  a 
romantic  imagination,  she  had  seen  even  her 
hardest  days  rosily.  But  Cousin  Amelia's 
visit  seemed  to  have  passed  like  a  blight  over 
all  her  bright  surfaces,  leaving  them  bare  and 

295 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

dull  and  shabby.  The  enormous  desirable- 
ness of  money,  to  which  she  always  gave  cheer- 
ful assent  in  theory,  became  all  at  once  a  real- 
ized and  oppressive  fact.  To  live  gracefully, 
with  beauty  and  harmony  of  surroundings;  to 
be  spared  the  odors  of  other  people's  lives  and 
dinners  in  one's  exits  and  entrances;  to  own 
space  and  sun  and  trained  service;  to  get  about 
in  storm  or  heat  unjostled  and  unherded;  to 
pass  easily  from  city  to  country,  as  the  seasons 
demanded;  these  were  not  vulgar  desires. 
Rather,  was  it  vulgar  to  be  content  without 
such  refinements,  to  dwell  smugly  in  cheap 
ugliness  and  find  a  few  poor  mitigations  worth 
the  enormous  effort  of  achieving  them.  "To 
live  like  this  and  have  so  little  and  work  so 
hard" — the  words  burned. 

Charlotte  had  known  a  touch  of  such  moods 
before,  notably  after  the  night  she  had  tried 
to  entertain  Miss  DeLong  at  the  opera,  but 
she  had  always  been  so  ashamed  of  them  that 
that  had  shrivelled  hastily  out  of  sight.  This 
time  she  was  not  ashamed.  That  was  the  worst 
of  it;  her  shame  was  for  the  childishness  that 
had  found  her  grubby  life  so  charming.  She 
knew  perfectly  well  that  she  .was  overtired 
from  a  long  winter's  work  and  so  not  herself, 

296 


THE  GLAMOUR 

but  that  did  not  help  her.  Nothing  helped 
her  for  several  trying  days,  wherein  all  her 
household  seemed  to  be  doing  its  best  to  de- 
serve Cousin  Amelia's  estimate.  Cameron 
was  rough  and  unmannerly,  the  little  maid  was 
caught  in  slatternly  practises  and  became  im- 
pudent, the  doorbell  would  ring  when  there 
was  no  one  sufficiently  dressed  to  answer  it, 
the  clothes  from  the  laundry  intruded  on  the 
caller. 

"I  must  see  Paul.  Paul  will  set  me  straight 
again,"  she  exclaimed  to  her  exasperated 
nerves,  and  turned  relievedly  to  the  thought 
of  Sunday  night.  The  five  almost  never  failed 
to  come,  caring  more  for  these  meetings  than 
for  anything  the  city  could  offer;  yet  it  so 
chanced,  this  week,  that  first  Evelyn  dropped 
out,  then  Lanse,  and  lastly  Paul  sent  a  hurried 
line  to  say  that  he  would  be  out  of  town.  It 
seemed  to  Charlotte  that  they  must  all  be  go- 
ing off  into  bright  and  beautiful  surround- 
ings. 

"Who  wouldn't!"  was  her  dry  comment  as 
she  sat  over  the  fire,  looking  a  lonely  future 
in  the  face. 

An  excited^  "O  mother!"  presently  broke 
in  on  her. 

297 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

"In  here,  dear,"  she  called  serenely.  Cam- 
eron's conversations  usually  began  at  the  front 
door.  He  came  in  thunderously. 

"Mother!    Paul's  got  a  girl!" 

She  had  risen  from  her  chair.  "What  have 
you  heard?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"Heard  nothing!  Saw  her,"  was  the  trium- 
phant answer.  Charlotte  sank  back  again  with 
a  relieved  sigh. 

"Oh,  is  that  all!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  it's  a  lot,  let  me  tell  you!  You 
ought  to  have  seen  her — she's  a  queen!  They 
were  in  a  hansom^  and  old  Paul  was  looking 
at  her — oh,  my!"  And  Cameron  went  off  into 
chuckles  at  the  recollection.  "He's  got  it  bad, 
this  time." 

"Oh,  Paul  always  has  a  girl ;  it  doesn't  mean 
anything."  Charlotte  spoke  impatiently,  and 
Cameron  was  offended. 

"Well,  I  came  all  the  way  back  to  tell  you; 
I  thought  you'd  be  interested,"  he  said  loftily. 
"I  shall  be  late  at  the  gymnasium."  And  he 
went  off  again. 

The  news  fell  dismally  on  Charlotte's  mood. 
It  was  true  that  Paul  had  many  "girls,"  and 
this  one  might  pass  as  the  rest  had;  but  it  was 
always  wounding  to  realize  that  they  who 

298 


THE  GLAMOUR 

held  his  steady  affection,  the  deepest  loyalty 
of  his  life,  were  never  for  one  minute  his 
loves.  Sooner  or  later  there  would  be  a  girl 
who  did  not  pass;  and  then  her  "empty  life" 
would  be  empty  indeed.  The  realization  came 
like  a  last  straw  to  her  despondency.  Let  him 
marry  his  girl  and  get  it  over  with!  She 
would  go  away,  that  was  all.  Someway  or 
other,  she  must  go  away. 

"She's  in  there^'  said  the  voice  of  the  little 
maid  in  the  hall.  It  was  her  method  of  an- 
nouncing a  caller.  The  door  was  pushed  back 
with  a  hesitating  hand,  and  the  trimly  but- 
toned figure  of  Cousin  Eustace  paused  on  the 
threshold. 

"I  may  come  in?"  he  murmured.  Char- 
lotte had  started  up. 

"Cousin  Eustace!"  she  cried  gladly.  As  she 
took  his  hand,  wonder  followed  on  her  eager 
welcome.  In  the  ten  years  since  they  had  met, 
a  tumultuous  lifetime  had  passed  over  her, 
mind  and  body,  changing,  marking  and  de- 
veloping; but  he  did  not  seem  to  have  altered 
by  so  much  as  one  line.  His  gray  hair,  part- 
ing, smooth  and  even,  over  shy,  dark  eyes,  was 
not  one  shade  lighter,  his  close  cut  brown 
moustache  had  not  given  up  a  thread  of  its 

299 


THE   TOP   OE  THE   MORNING 

darkness,  his  pleasant  brown  skin  held  only 
the  marks  she  remembered  about  his  small, 
neat  features.  Even  his  erect  figure  had  stayed 
the  same.  "How  have  you  done  it?"  she  de- 
manded. "Why,  I  thought  of  you  as  vener- 
able, and  now  we  are  the  same  age!" 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,"  he  protested,  and  made 
her  smile  by  bringing  a  thick  envelope  out  of 
his  pocket  as  he  sat  down.  "I  thought  you 
might  like  to  see  some  pictures  I  took  of 
Bertie's  ranch,"  he  explained.  Bertie  was 
Cousin  Amelia's  son,  whom  they  had  been 
visiting  in  the  Northwest.  In  former  days, 
Charlotte  used  to  turn  obediently  to  the  daily 
offering,  newspaper  clipping  or  twin  plum  or 
whatever  it  might  be,  but  now,  being  more 
experienced,  she  laid  the  photographs  on  the 
table  for  the  present  and  insisted  on  person- 
alities. 

"I  want  to  hear  first  about  you/'  she  de- 
clared. "I  can't  get  over  it.  Time  must  go 
at  a  different  pace,  in  Surrey." 

"Well,  I  was  always  rather  an  elderly 
chap,"  he  explained  with  his  shy  smile.  "I 
have  been  growing  a  bit  younger,  these  last 
years.  At  least,  so  my  sister  says."  His  eyes 
turned  longingly  to  the  safe  topic  of  the  photo- 

300 


THE  GLAMOUR 

graphs,  but  Charlotte  would  not  indulge  him. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  have  traveled  a  good  bit — India  and 
Turkestan  and  that,  and  I  had  a  look  in  at 
Central  Africa  with  a  scientific  exploration 
party."  He  gave  out  the  information  uneasily, 
as  though  ashamed  of  mentioning  it.  "The 
rest  of  the  time  I  have  been  in  Surrey.  I  have 
improved  the  garden." 

"You  couldn't  have,"  she  said.  His  well 
bred,  English  voice,  the  suggested  background 
of  ease  and  freedom,  had  made  a  swift  appeal 
to  her  mood  of  discontent.  He  was  suddenly 
dear  and  valuable  to  her.  "You  may  have 
made  it  bigger  or  different,  but  you  couldn't 
have  improved  it.  It  was  such  a  jewel  of  a 
garden!  I  can't  tell  you  how  often  I  have 
thought  of  it,  and  of  how  good  you  were."  The 
warm  memory  suffused  her  voice  and  eyes. 
"I  had  all  sorts  of  hard  times  later,  but  I  kept 
the  key  of  those  beloved  gardens,  and  you  don't 
know  what  a  comfort  they  were — especially 
when  I  was  rather  hungry!"  she  ended  with 
a  laugh.  He  had  forgotten  the  photographs, 
forgotten  even  his  shyness. 

"Hungry!"  he  repeated,  so  aghast  that  she 
laughed  again. 

301 


THE   TOP   OF   THE   MORNING 

"Oh,  only  now  and  then.  I  never  minded, 
and  it  is  all  over  now.  I  knew  you  would  have 
helped  me.  I  always  felt  that  we  were  good 
friends,  even  if  you  wouldn't  know  me  very 
well."  His  color  rose  before  the  accusation. 

"I  was  about  rather  often,"  he  protested; 
"as  often  as  I  thought  a  clever  woman  like 
you  could  stand  such  a  dull  chap.  I — I — well, 
you  know,  I  felt  quite  lost  after  you  had 
gone." 

Charlotte  was  frankly  pleased.  "It  was 
nice  of  you  to  like  me.  I  must  have  seemed 
very  crude  and  excitable  and — American,  and 
all  the  things  you  Britons  don't  like." 

"I  thought  you  very  brilliant  and  charm- 
ing," he  said  with  a  simplicity  that  was  en- 
dearing. "Now  there  is  a  photograph  here  I 
want  you  to  see.  It  gives  you  quite  an  idea  of 
the  mountains." 

She  submitted  to  half  a  dozen  prints,  out- 
wardly attentive,  though  her  mind  had  flown 
to  domestic  details.  Her  instinct  of  hospital- 
ity, crushed  to  earth  since  Cousin  Amelia's 
visit,  had  begun  to  stir  suggestively. 

"How  long  shall  you  be  here?"  she  pres- 
ently interrupted. 

"I  don't  sail  for  three  weeks.  But  I  thought 
302 


THE  GLAMOUR 

of  picking  up  a  motor  and  taking  a  trip  of 
some  sort."  He  drew  breath  nervously.  "I 
wondered  if  you  and  Cameron — perhaps 
you'd  not  care  about  it — you  may  think  it  too 
early  in  the  year  yet — but  if  it  would  interest 
you,  as  my  guests " 

"A  motoring  trip?  Oh,  I'd  love  it!"  Char- 
lotte's enthusiasm  had  swept  her  out  of  her 
chair.  She  had  been  longing  so  acutely  to  get 
away  from  her  life  that  the  prospect  seemed 
like  a  magic  intervention.  "Of  course  it  is 
not  too  early;  it  may  turn  really  warm  any 
moment  now.  And  Cameron  has  his  Easter 
holidays.  O  Cousin  Eustace,  how  soon  can 
we  go?" 

"Tomorrow,  if  you  like,"  was  the  gratified 
answer.  "Look  here;  you  didn't  see  this  one 
of  the  imported  cattle.  I  think  they  are  rather 
fine,  you  know." 

Bright  skies  stretched  over  them  by  day, 
comfortable  hotels  cared  for  them  at  night. 
Each  day's  route  was  planned  with  a  capacity 
for  infinite  pains  that  should  have  marked 
Cousin  Eustace  a  genius.  Charlotte  lay  back 
on  her  leathern  cushions  without  a  care  in  the 
world,  and  saw  that  her  mood  had  been  right, 


THE    TOP   OF   THE  MORNING 

that  nothing  could  balance  the  ease  and  beauty 
and  freedom  of  wealth.  And  its  power  to 
share  these  qualities,  to  see  other  beings  as 
utterly  happy  as  she  and  Cameron  now  were, 
made  her  heart  beat  with  desire.  Her  smiles 
ran  over  whenever  she  encountered  Cousin 
Eustace's  shy,  dark  glance  or  the  boy's  happy 
grin.  Their  response  was  characteristic: 
Cameron  would  butt  his  head  into  her  shoul- 
der or  throw  her  a  loud  kiss  from  the  front 
seat,  while  Eustace  would  point  out  a  lunatic 
asylum,  or  stop  the  motor  to  explain  some  pe- 
culiar geological  formation.  Cameron  lis- 
tened to  his  discourses  with  an  absorption  that 
reproached  her.  She  herself  never  heard  more 
than  the  opening  and  closing  sentences,  but 
shed  her  deceptive  contentment  on  him  in  place 
of  attention,  and  told  herself  that  he  was  a 
great  dear.  At  dinner,  rested  and  refreshed 
in  body  and  spirit,  Charlotte  usually  came  out 
of  her  trance  and  let  all  her  vivid,  merry  spirit 
loose,  Cameron  playing  a  humorous  second 
and  Cousin  Eustace  looking  on  with  a  na'ive 
admiration  that  was  both  stimulating  and 
endearing.  Sometimes  she  made  gentle  fun 
of  his  English  customs;  and  rejoiced  beyond 
measure  in  the  serene,  "Yes — but  we  do  it" 

3°4 


THE  GLAMOUR 

which  served  him  for  argument.  There  was 
a  subtle  stimulation  in  the  air,  which  she  at- 
tributed to  her  relief  from  all  money  re- 
sponsibility. 

Each  day  was  a  brighter  jewel  than  the 
last,  and  the  fifth  shone  so  resplendent  that 
they  tried  to  feel  troubled,  as  a  tribute  to  the 
mortality  of  all  too  lovely  things.  The  climax 
of  its  perfection  came  at  half  past  four,  when 
they  stopped  on  a  pine  covered  knoll,  deep  in 
white  sand,  to  get  out  the  tea  basket.  The 
only  time  in  the  past  five  days  that  Cousin 
Eustace  had  shown  himself  ruffled  had  been 
when  a  delay  had  made  it  inadvisable  to  pause 
for  tea.  Charlotte  lifted  her  face  to  the  soft 
touch  of  the  spring  wind,  and  found  hidden 
in  it  a  salty  taste  of  the  ocean  they  were  ap- 
proaching. 

"Now  there  is  nothing  on  earth  left  to  wish 
for,"  she  cried,  taking  long  breaths.  "Eustace, 
you  do  these  things  beautifully!" 

"Ah,  you  get  that  because  the  breeze  is  off 
the  ocean,"  he  explained,  emptying  the  water 
bottle  into  the  kettle.  "I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it." 

Her  glance  rested  amusedly  on  his  serious 
305 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

face;  then  she  turned  up  the  wick  of  the  lamp 
and  measured  out  the  tea. 

"I  never  had  a  nicer  time  in  my  life,"  she 
said  irrelevantly. 

"That  is  very  good  of  you."  He  had  spread 
the  road  map  down  on  the  sand,  and  was  mak- 
ing it  true  to  direction  with  a  pocket  com- 
pass. "I  was  so  afraid  you  would  be  bored." 

"My  dear  cousin,  if  you  knew  anything 
whatever  about  poverty  and  hard  work,  you 
wouldn't  have  feared  that." 

"Ah,  well,  you  artists  are  not  like  poor  peo- 
ple," he  protested.  "You  have  so  much  that 
is  brilliant  and  gay  in  your  lives." 

"Urn.  But  we  have  a  good  deal  that  isn't," 
with  emphasis.  Eustace  looked  up,  keeping 
an  identifying  finger  on  the  main  road. 

"But  you  would  find  Surrey  no  end  dull," 
he  said,  so  simply  that  she  did  not  suspect  his 
meaning. 

"I  certainly  don't  remember  it  as  dull!  It 
was  very  lovely.  Cameron  dear,  do  you  want 
some  tea?"  she  added,  raising  her  voice.  Cam- 
eron, who  was  absorbedly  watching  the  chauf- 
feur's investigation  of  some  concealed  valve, 
waved  a  biscuit  to  show  that  he  was  adequate- 
ly provided  for. 

306 


THE  GLAMOUR 

"To  visit  in  June,  yes;  but  to  live  there — 
that  wouldn't  do,  for  you.  I  have  been  think- 
ing about  it  ever  since  I  saw  you  again,"  he 
explained,  returning  to  the  map. 

"Thinking  about  what?"  Charlotte  was  too 
incredulous  to  heed  a  throb  of  startled 
warning. 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  it  is  of  no  use.  A  bril- 
liant woman  like  you  wouldn't  look  at  an 
elderly,  humdrum  chap  like  me."  Eustace  took 
out  a  pencil  and  made  a  neat  cross  to  mark 
their  present  position  on  the  map.  "But  I 
wanted  you  to  know,  that  is  all.  Do  you  real- 
ize that  we  are  still  up  five  hundred  feet?" 

Charlotte  was  too  dazed  to  answer.  Cam- 
eron came  back  for  some  tea,  and  she  heard 
the  two  talking  altitudes  and  then  machinery, 
but  could  not  rouse  herself  to  take  part.  She 
could  only  stare  through  this  suddenly  opened 
door  that  led  into  a  Surrey  garden.  Eustace 
put  away  the  tea  things,  then  got  out  an  extra 
wrap  for  her,  as  the  chill  of  ocean  fog  was 
creeping  into  the  breeze. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  worry  you,"  he  said  drily 
as  he  put  it  about  her  shoulders.  "I'm  so 
sorry." 

She  turned  to  look  into  his  face. 

307 


THE   TOP   OF  THE    MORNING 

"You  are  a  very  strange  person,  Eustace," 
she  said  gravely.  "I  can't  quite  believe — what 
you  said." 

uAh,  well,  I  put  it  stupidly,"  he  apologized. 
"I  never  have  known  how  to — to  talk  properly 
to  ladies,  I  suppose.  But  it  is  quite  true,  you 
know.  It  was  true  ten  years  ago,  only  then  I 
wasn't  ass  enough  to  give  myself  away."  He 
smiled  faintly.  "Now  we  must  start.  There 
is  a  famous  view  on  here  a  bit  and  we  don't 
want  to  be  too  late  for  it." 

The  horn  was  croaking  under  Cameron's 
impatient  hand,  and  they  turned  back  to  the 
car. 

"I  am  very  fond  of  you,  Eustace,"  said 
Charlotte  impulsively. 

To  find  that  she  has  been  loved  secretly, 
and  without  hope,  is  very  touching  to  a  wom- 
an of  romantic  imagination.  The  thing  was 
utterly  impossible,  of  course;  yet,  as  they  sped 
on  through  sunset  into  dusk,  the  glamour  that 
had  been  stripped  so  roughly  from  Charlotte's 
present  life  began  to  gather  in  a  luminous 
haze  over  what  her  life  might  be  under  the 
circumstances  held  out  to  it.  Cameron  would 
be  easily  reconciled  to  a  change  that  brought 
motors  with  it!  She  smiled  at  his  uncon- 

308 


THE  GLAMOUR 

scious  back,  then  turned  dreamy  eyes  to  a  far 
off  blur  that  meant  the  ocean.  Nothing  on 
earth  could  induce  her  to  do  it;  but  visions  of 
strange  lands,  luxuriously  visited,  alternated 
with  home  scenes  of  ease  and  loveliness.  She 
saw  the  gravel  walks  that,  she  used  to  insist, 
were  combed  and  brushed  every  morning  be- 
fore breakfast,  and  the  dogs  panting  on  the 
brick  steps  of  the  terrace,  the  clean,  bright 
shrubbery  that  was  surely  dusted  by  the 
innumerable  housemaids1  the  aristocratic  old 
brick  house  that  had  been  rebuilt  and  added 
to  by  so  many  generations  that  it  was  like  an 
ancient,  wilful  growth  rather  than  the  work 
of  man.  The  life  that  went  on  in  such  a  place 
was  fixed,  and  no  stranger  might  hope  to  alter 
its  sedate  course;  but  no  stranger  could  be 
so  crude  or  so  foolish  as  to  wish  for  changes. 
To  conform  would  be  the  most  flavored  ex- 
perience of  a  varied  life.  And  Eustace  him- 
self? Surely  one  may  be  indulgent  of  little 
oddities  and  precisions  when  a  man  is  so 
enormously  a  gentleman.  Charlotte  turned  to 
look  at  him,  and  met  his  shy  glance. 

"From  the  top  of  this  next  hill  we  can  see 
five  counties,"  he  informed  her. 

"All  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,"  said  Char- 

309. 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

lotte  unthinkingly,  then  suddenly  laughed 
aloud.  Her  eyes  were  still  brimming  with 
secret  amusement  when,  with  the  help  of  com- 
pass and  map,  the  five  counties  were  pointed 
out  to  her.  She  made  small  pretense  of  look- 
ing. 

"The  masculine  mind  is  a  curious  thing," 
she  said.  "Why  do  you  two  care  if  you  can 
see  five  counties?" 

"Why,  it's  interesting,"  said  Cameron,  so 
surprisedly  that  she  dropped  the  point  with  a 
laugh.  The  outdoor  world  was  a  matter  of 
color  and  shape  and  odor  to  her;  Eustace's 
passion  for  identifying  all  its  component  parts, 
from  a  village  library  to  a  terminal  morain, 
was  one  of  the  traits  of  which  she  was  amused- 
ly indulgent. 

He  certainly  took  perfect  care  of  people. 
When  they  arrived  at  their  hotel,  late  and 
tired  and  a  little  chilled,  a  fire  burned  in  a 
private  sitting  room  for  Charlotte  and  a  din- 
ner table  was  spread  there. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  fagged  after  so 
long  a  run,"  he  apologized.  "If  you  would 
rather  I  dined  downstairs " 

"But  I  wouldn't,"  she  interrupted.  "Eus- 
tace, you  are  spoiling  me  horribly  with  all  this 

310 


THE  GLAMOUR 
luxury.      It    is    not    fitting    for    a    working 


woman." 


"Well,  you  know — "  The  pause  was  elo- 
quent, and  she  did  not  pretend  to  miss  its 
meaning.  Cameron  had  gone  to  his  room. 

"You  wouldn't  want  these  outer  things  to 
have  any  influence,"  she  said  gravely,  putting 
her  hands  to  the  fire. 

"Why  not?  They  are  all  I  have  to  offer 
to  a  woman  like  you,  except — well,  you  know, 
rather  a  strong  feeling."  He,  too,  had  his 
hands  to  fire,  and  he  did  not  look  at  her.  "I 
should  be  very  glad  if  anything  whatever 
could  make  it  worth  your  while.  But  I  don't 
expect  it.  I  have  no  illusions  about  myself." 

"You  are  very  true  and  dear  and  fine.  I 
wish  I  could  do  it,  Eustace — I  wish  I  could." 
There  was  wavering  in  her  voice,  wavering 
and  longing.  She  was  tired  of  care,  tired  of 
working  so  hard — and  Paul  had  his  girl !  "Oh, 
I  wish  I  could!"  she  repeated  on  a  broken 
breath.  "But  that  is  impossible."  It  was  a 
frail  "impossible,"  and,  knowing  this,  Char- 
lotte shivered  when  he  broke  the  long  pause 
that  followed  with  a  sudden  movement.  But 
he  had  only  thrust  a  hand  into  his  breast 
pocket, 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"Should  you  like  to  see  our  mileage 
record?"  he  asked1  bringing  out  a  small  note 
book. 

"No,"  said  Charlotte.  "We  must  get  ready 
for  dinner;  Cameron  will  be  starved,"  she 
added  over  her  shoulder,  and  shut  the  door 
of  her  room  on  him. 

The  hotel  was  in  an  accidental  corner  of 
good  climate  to  which  the  rich  of  less  favored 
spots  came  all  winter  for  the  tonic  of  ocean 
and  sunned  pines.  The  garish  extravagance 
with  which  they  were  fed,  served  and  housed 
appealed  to  Charlotte's  mood.  Eustace,  with 
his  unfailing  thoughtfulness,  left  her  early, 
and  Cameron  stumbled  off  to  bed,  half  asleep, 
but  she  still  sat  up  over  her  fire,  staring  into 
a  possible  future.  The  charm  of  it  grew  rather 
than  diminished.  At  last  she  started  up  and, 
going  to  the  desk,  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Paul. 
It  might  have  been  a  persuasive  letter  to  her- 
self, all  that  tempted  her  was  so  alluringly  set 
forth.  "And  changes  will  come,  with  Us," 
she  ended  on  a  note  of  wistfulness.  "You  will 
get  other  and  closer  interests.  I  think  I  would 
rather  break  out  while  it  is  still  perfect  than 
see  you  drop  away,  one  after  another.  I 
couldn't  bear  it,  Paul."  That  was  her  only  al~ 

312 


THE  GLAMOUR 

lusion  to  his  "girl."  She  might  have  rung  for 
a  boy  to  mail  the  letter,  but  she  was  too  un- 
used to  service  to  think  of  that  until  she  was 
half  way  downstairs.  It  was  after  eleven,  and 
the  hotel  lobby  was  nearly  empty;  but  a  neat, 
familiar  figure  stood  at  the  desk,  studying  a 
local  guide  book. 

The  letter  in  Charlotte's  hand  seemed  to 
give  a  guilty  leap.  In  an  impulse  of  panic 
she  thrust  it  into  her  blouse,  and  would  have 
slipped  away  again  if  Eustace  had  not  at  that 
moment  looked  up.  He  came  to  meet  her 
with  a  perturbed  forehead. 

"Ah,  I  hoped  you  were  resting!" 

"I  am  not  sleepy,"  Charlotte  explained, 
truthfully  enough.  "I — I  think  I  will  take  a 
little  walk  in  that  long  glass  porch.  It  looked 
rather  nice  as  we  came  in.  The  palms  are 
probably  made  of  paper,  but  never  mind!" 
She  realized  that  she  was  talking  nervously, 
and  ridiculed  herself  into  serenity  again  as 
they  paced  the  dimly  lit  arcade.  A  few  groups 
still  lingered  in  its  green  recesses,  and  Char- 
lotte eyed  them  thoughtfully  as  she  passed. 

"I  suppose  they  aren't  really  as  bored  as 
they  look/'  she  admitted.  "It  is  a  strange 
fact,  Eustace— the  more  grandly  people  are 

3'3. 


THE    TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

dressed,  in  public  places,  the  less  they  ap- 
parently have  to  say.  Do  you  suppose  clothes 
end  by  choking  one?  Or  are  they  so  enjoy- 
able that  one  doesn't  need  the  pleasures  of  con- 
versation?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  I'm  sure/'  said  Eustace. 
"We  consider  the  American  women  over- 
dressed, at  home.  Here  is  a  very  good  little 
guide  to  the  region  that  I  have  picked  up. 
You  may  take  it  to  your  room  with  you  if  you 
like." 

Charlotte  ignored  the  offer.  "Tell  me  about 
the  women  you  have  known  best,"  she  said 
abruptly.  "Were  any  of  them  like  me?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  in  startled  protest.  "There 
have  been  so  few,  anyway.  I  am  not  a  ladies' 
man.  I  used  to  go  botanizing  with  Lady 
Mary  Selwyn  now  and  again,  and  I  generally 
write  to  her  if  I  come  on  a  specimen 
of  any  interest.  She  is  remarkably  well  in- 
formed." 

Charlotte  turned  to  him  impulsively. 
"Why  on  earth  do  you  like  me?"  He  flushed 
under  the  attack. 

"Why,  that  seems  to  me  very  obvious!  You 
are  so  charming,  so  clever.  And  then,  you 
make  a  shy  person  like  me  so  at  home  with 

3'4 


THE  GLAMOUR 

you.  I  give  you  my  word,  I  have  never  felt 
so  at  ease  with  any  one,  man  or  woman,  or — 
or  talked  so  freely,  as  it  were.  It  is  not  easy 
for  me  to  be  so  intimate." 

"So  intimate  as  you  and  I  are?"  she  re- 
peated, the  gleam  of  a  smile  in  her 
eyes. 

"Yes.  I  find  myself  telling  you  all  sorts  of 
things — like  that  about  writing  to  Lady  Mary, 
for  instance.  I  should  like  to  show  you  Eng- 
land." 

A  swift  memory  of  wide  green  English 
vistas,  of  ancient  parks  and  lanes  deep-walled 
with  holly,  and  placid,  brimming  streams, 
stirred  and  warmed  her.  She  bent  a  little 
towards  him. 

"I  wish  you  could,"  she  said,  so  gently  that 
he  straightened  excitedly. 

"Ah,  you  would  enjoy  it,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  could  really  give  you  some  idea  of  what 
you  were  seeing  there,  where  I  know  my 
ground." 

Her  mood  unaccountably  chilled.  "I  sup- 
pose you  could  point  out  all  the  objects  of 
interest,"  she  said  slowly. 

"I  ought  to  be  able.    Of  course,  here  I  only 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

know  what  I  read  up  over  night.  That  is 
very  little."  She  halted. 

"I  must  go  upstairs,"  she  said.  Eustace 
turned  at  once. 

"Ah,  yeSj  you  must  rest,"  he  assented. 
"There  is  nothing  like  rest  when  one  is  tired. 
Do  take  this  little  book  with  you;  I  shan't 
want  it.  You  will  find  it  interesting,  I  think." 

She  took  it  with  a  faint  smile.  "Thank  you. 
Good  night,"  she  said.  As  she  passed  ,the 
mail  box,  she  remembered  her  letter,  and 
paused,  her  hand  at  her  blouse;  but  went  on 
without  posting  it.  "Tomorrow  will  do  as 
well,"  she  murmured. 

The  weather  had  evidently  spent  its  loveli- 
ness. Rain  was  falling  the  next  morning  with 
a  gray  steadiness  that  was  ominous.  They 
found  that  they  were  glad  of  a  day's  rest,  and 
settled  down  contentedly  to  magazines  and 
letters.  Cameron's  unfailing  presence  and 
deep  interest  in  everything  that  was  said  kept 
the  talk  impersonal,  and  Charlotte  was  not 
sorry.  But  her  eyes  smiled  affectionately  on 
Cousin  Eustace  when  he  brought  her  a  care- 
ful selection  of  picture  postals,  showing  the 
local  points  of  interest.  He  really  was  a  dear. 

Rain  was  still  falling  with  unabated  pur- 
316 


THE  GLAMOUR 

pose  when  they  awoke  the  day  following. 
With  revived  energies  they  took  to  pool  and 
bowling  for  a  happy  morning;  but  the  after- 
noon seemed  a  little  long.  Eustace  read  aloud 
an  article  on  recent  additions  to  the  known 
flora  and  fauna  of  Central  Africa,  and  of- 
fered a  second  article  on  the  political  future 
of  China,  but  Charlotte  rebelled. 

"I  won't  have  my  mind  improved  any  more 
to-day,"  she  declared.  "Come  and  be  com- 
fortable by  the  fire.  What  is  the  good  of  so 
much  information?" 

Eustace  was  startled.  "One  has  to  know 
things,"  he  protested. 

"It  is  a  good  deal  more  important  to  know 
each  other!  Come  and  get  acquainted." 

He  took  an  uneasy  seat  on  the  edge  of  a 
straight  chair.  "Of  course,  I  will  tell  you 
anything  you  like,"  he  conceded.  "But  there 
is  very  little  to  know  about  me." 

"I  want  to  know  your  ideas — on  life,  on  re- 
ligion, on  art  and  politics  and  love,  on  every- 
thing you  think  about."  It  was  a  large  order, 
as  her  smile  admitted.  Had  she  pointed  a 
gun  at  him,  he  would  not  have  looked  half  so 
disturbed. 

lj  I  belong  to  the  Established  Church," 

317 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

he  finally  brought  out.  "Every  one  does,  at 
home." 

"And  what  about  it?  What  does  it  mean 
to  you?" 

"Oh,  I  go  to  church,  of  course.  And  pay 
tithes.  And  dine  the  rector.  He's  a  very 
good  sort,  our  rector;"  Eustace  breathed  re- 
lief at  this  safe  aspect  of  the  topic.  "He's, 
quite  a  sharp  on  entomology.  His  collection 
of  butterflies  is  said  to  be  the  third  best  private 
collection  in  the  Kingdom.  I'd  like  you  to  see 
them." 

"I'd  hate  to/'  was  the  humorously  frank 
answer.  "I  don't  like  collections." 

"Ah,  but  you  would  be  interested  in  my 
geological  cabinets.  You  couldn't  help  it," 
he  exclaimed.  "I  should  enjoy  showing  them 
to  you." 

Charlotte's  spirits  drooped  a  little.  "I  am 
not  very  intelligent,"  she  apologized.  "I  like 
ideas  so  much  better  than  facts!  Are  you 
fond  of  the  theatre?"  she  added,  a  note  of 
fresh  hope  in  her  voice. 

"I  like  a  good  play  now  and  again,  if  it 
isn't  unpleasant."  The  plea  for  ideas  had  evi- 
dently reached  him ;  she  saw  one  formulating, 
and  waited  eagerly  till  he  brought  it  out:  "I 

3-8 


must  say,  when  I  go  to  the  theatre,  I  like  to 
be  amused!"  And  Eustace  leaned  back,  re- 
lievedly  conscious  of  having  met  the  require- 
ments. 

Cameron,  who  had  been  reading  by  the 
window,  threw  down  his  magazine  with  a 
yawn  and  came  to  join  them. 

"I  wish  old  Paul  were  here/'  he  said. 

A  quick  pain  shot  through  Charlotte's 
heart. 

On  the  third  day  it  still  rained,  though  less 
steadily.  Eustace  took  an  excursion  on  foot, 
and  reported  the  roads  in  a  deplorable  state. 

"But  it  is  clearing;  and  a  day  of  high  wind 
would  make  it  all  right  for  us,"  he  reassured 
them.  "This  is  Friday;  oh,  we  shall  get 
off  by  Monday,  anyway." 

"Monday!"  Charlotte  exclaimed,  an  in- 
voluntary dismay  in  her  voice.  "I  ought  to 
be  home  and  at  work  by  Monday,"  she  added 
in  explanation.  "I  expected  to  be  at  home 
Sunday  night;  I  have  some  people  coming." 

"If  it  is  important,  we  can  go  back  by 
train,"  said  Eustace,  looking  troubled. 

"Oh,  no;  we  don't  want  to  do  that,"  said 
Charlotte  warmly,  and  fell  into  a  revery, 

319 


THE   TOP   OF  THE   MORNING 

staring  out  at  the  drenched  landscape.  Eus- 
tace cut  the  leaves  of  a  new  periodical. 

"There  is  an  article  here  I  should  like  to 
read  you,"  he  began.  "It  is ' 

Charlotte  interrupted  with  an  irrelevant 
question:  "There  is  a  good  deal  of  rain  in 
Surrey,  isn't  there?" 

"Oh,  yes,  a  good  bit.  More  than  you  have 
in  this  country.  I  could  find  you  some  statis- 
tics if  you  are  interested." 

"I  thought  there  was>"  she  said  wearily, 
turning  away.  "Do  you  know,  Eustace,  I 
really  think  I  must  go  back  by  train?  Those 
people  are  coming  to  supper,  and — you  know 
how  it  is." 

He  rose  at  once.  "Yes,  of  course.  And 
you  have  been  so  very  patient,  waiting  here 
all  this  time.  I  will  find  out  about  the 
trains." 

His  voice  and  aspect  were  unchanged,  yet 
some  instinctive  knowledge  made  Charlotte 
call  him  back. 

"You  have  been  so  good  to  us,"  she  said, 
taking  his  hand.  "We  shall  never  forget  it, 
Cameron  and  I.  We  are  very  fond  of  you, 
Cousin  Eustace." 

For  a  revealing  instant  his  eyes  looked 
320 


THE  GLAMOUR 

straight  down  into  hers ;  then  he  was  his  shy, 
trimly  buttoned  self  again. 

"It  was  so  very  good  of  you  to  come,"  he 
said. 

They  fairly  ran  up  the  stairs  of  home,  the 
next  noon,  and  threw  back  the  door  with  a 
welcoming  call  for  the  little  cook.  No  one 
answered.  There  was  dust  in  the  sitting  room, 
disorder  in  the  kitchen,  emptiness  in  the  serv- 
ant's bedroom.  Evidently  the  little  cook  had 
passed  on.  Charlotte  sat  down  on  a  kitchen 
chair  and  roared  with  laughter. 

"Good  riddance,"  she  said.  "I  am  glad 
of  it.  We  will  go  out  for  some  lunch,  dear 
boy,  and  get  in  provisions." 

"Don't  you  wish  we  had  that  bully  hotel?" 
exclaimed  Cameron. 

"No;  I  feel  more  like  a  Child's  Dairy." 
Charlotte's  spirits  were  at  high  tide.  "You 
and  I  aren't  meant  for  luxuries,"  she  went 
on  presently  as  they  sat  contentedly  over  a 
lunch  that  would  have  filled  Cousin  Eustace 
with  horror.  "We  really  like  to  rough  it, 
to  travel  light,  to  be  free  of  ceremony  and  be- 
longings. There's  a  touch  of  the  tramp  in  us, 
Cameron  dear.  That  hotel  began  to  feel  like 
a  county  jail,  to  me.  I  have  moments  of 
321 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

thinking  I  like  luxury;  but  it  is  much  more 
fun  to  be  our  kind!  I'm  going  to  give  the 
place  a  glorious  cleaning,  and  we'll  have  such 
a  good  supper  tomorrow  night,  and  such  good 
talk!  O  Cameron  dear,  never,  never  get  to 
thinking  that  the  fleshpots  are  more  desirable 
than  brains  and  wits  and  imaginations;  you 
will  never  in  your  life  get  anything  better 
than  these  Sunday  nights  of  ours.  Why  don't 
you  order  rice  and  milk?  It's  heavenly 
good. 

"And,  you  know,  even  if  Paul  has  a  girl, 
it  won't  take  him  away  from  us.  Nothing 
will ;  we  needn't  worry.  We  all  belong  to 
each  other  for  life  now.  Oh,  it  will  be  good 
to  get  my  hands  on  that  refrigerator!  She 
never  kept  it  properly.  People  like  Cousin 
Amelia  don't  know  anything  about  the  joy 
of  bodily  work.  Her  sort  of  life  would 
smother  us,  Cameron!  Think  of  the  eternal 
decorous  routine — the  rector  to  dinner — the 
improving  articles — the  British  Sunday!  Oh, 
my  dear?  never  get  discontented  with  your  lot. 
We  are  very  blessed^  you  and  I ;  we  have  such 
a  dear,  gay  little  life  together.  I  am  going 
to  have  a  big  cup  of  coffee !" 

Buying  their  provisions  took  on  the  nature 
322 


THE  GLAMOUR 

of  a  spree  under  Charlotte's  mood.  Home 
again,  she  put  on  a  working  dress,  planned 
her  campaign  and  gave  Cameron  a  list  of 
commissions  to  execute. 

"You  can't  help  me,  and  I  don't  want  you 
about  underfoot,"  she  said. 

"You'll  kill  yourself/'  he  prophesied.  "I 
know  you." 

She  had  just  found  among  her  belongings 
a  sealed  letter  addressed  to  Paul,  and  she  tore 
it  across  with  a  quick  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"You  know  me!  Much  you  do,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "You  are  nothing  but  a  puppy;  you 
don't  know  anything  whatever  about  grown 
men  and  women.  I  am  rather  glad  you  don't," 
she  added  with  a  sigh.  "I  should  hate  to  have 
you  find  out  what  an  old  fool  your  mother 
has  nearly  been,  once  or  twice  in  her  life! 
But  you  will  never,  never  know,  thank  heaven. 
Go  on  with  you,  little  boy." 

Cameron  paused  in  the  hall,  hat  in  hand. 
Then  he  put  his  head  back  through  the  nar- 
rowest possible  opening  of  the  door. 

"Mother!" 

"Well?"  unsuspectingly. 

"Should  I  have  had  to  call  him  papa?" 

Then  the  door  banged. 

323 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

Cameron  wisely  did  not  come  back  that  af- 
ternoon, but  Donna  dropped  in  towards  five 
o'clock,  to  find  Charlotte^  weary  but  radiant 
still,  putting  the  last  touches  to  a  shiningly 
clean  kitchen.  They  greeted  each  other  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  long  separation.  Charlotte 
told  of  the  week's  adventures  so  as  to  make 
Donna  sigh  with  desire. 

"Still,  it  is  perfectly  beautiful  to  be  back," 
Charlotte  explained.  "I  do  like  my  life, 
Donna — the  work  and  freedom  and  stimula- 
tion. Of  course^  I  know  I  am  fooling  myself; 
that  things  are  really  rather  cheap  and  nasty, 
and  that  I  am  simply  spinning  a  sort  of 
glamour  over  them — pretending.  If  I  were  a 
finer,  more  honest  character,  and  saw  things 
just  as  they  are " 

The  force  of  Donna's  protest  took  her  out 
of  her  chair. 

"Now,  Charlotte  McLean,"  she  began, 
standing  indignantly  over  her;  "suppose  you 
were  little,  and  were  playing  with  a  radiantly 
lovely  lady  doll,  dressed  in  trailing  satins,  who 
had  three  exquisite  baby  dolls,  of  varied  char- 
acter and  surpassing  interest;  and  suppose 
some  Mamie  Snooks  came  along  and  said, 
'Pshaw!  They're  only  a  whisk  broom  and 

324 


THE  GLAMOUR 

three  clothespins  dressed  in  handkerchiefs  I' — 
and  suppose  the  literal  facts  seemed  to  bear 
her  out;  yet  which  of  you  would  really  have 
seen  deepest  and  farthest  and  best?" 

"I  would,"  said  Charlotte  meekly. 

"And  which  would  be  the  blind,  stupid  one, 
you  who  only  needed  a  wooden  peg  to  hang 
your  imaginings  on,  to  see  the  spirit  of  things, 
or  Mamie  Snooks,  who  might  just  as  well  be 
a  millionaire,  because  she  could  never  possibly 
get  any  good  out  of  anything  else?" 

"Mamie  Snooks;"  still  more  meekly. 

"Well,  then!"  said  Donna  subsiding. 


325 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
PAUL'S  WIFE. 

"  'For  we're  all  frank  and  twenty 
When  the  spring  is  in  the  air/  " 

chanted  Donna,  leaning  far  out  into  the  morn- 
ing. Spring  had  come  over  night.  The  city 
had  gone  to  sleep  with  cold  rain  on  the  win- 
dows, but  waked  to  find  its  streets  shining 
as  with  golden  oil,  its  trees  a  green  mist,  its 
sober  winter  spirit  burst  like  a  brown  chrysalis 
to  let  out  gauzy  wings  of  joy.  Youth  walked 
with  an  exuberant  downward  push  of  heels 
forbidden  their  instinctive  fling  upwards,  and 
on  a  thousand  desks  beside  Donna's  the  work 
lay  forgotten  while  elbows  rested  on  the 
sunned  window  ledges.  Far  below  her  crowds 
were  already  humming  and  buzzing  about 
the  spring  bloom  of  the  shops.  She  watched 
them  with  smiling,  understanding  eyes. 

"  'The  spring- fret  is  on  me 
And  the  dry  goods  call,'  " 

she  murmured,  and,  from  long  practical  habit, 

327 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

paused  to  wonder  if  something  might  not  be 
made  of  the  parody;  then  threw  it  away  with 
a  laugh.  This  was  no  day  to  be  thrifty  of 
stray  thoughts.  N  Visions  of  cool  linen,  of 
filmy  batiste  and  tinted  Japanese  crepe  be- 
gan to  form  before  her;  the  first  rapt  concep- 
tion of  a  poem  could  not  have  held  her  more 
intent  than  her  inspiration  for  making  an  old 
lace  handkerchief  the  basis  for  a  handsome 
new  blouse.  She  had  started  up  to  get  out 
materials  when  her  doorbell  brought  a  thrill 
of  possibilities.  She  threw  back  the  door  for 
Charlotte  with  a  welcoming  laugh. 

"So  you  couldn't  work,  either,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  am  so  glad.  Was  there  ever 
such  a  day?"  Charlotte's  glance  searched  her 
face,  then  fell  away.  She  looked  pale  and 
constrained  as  she  followed  into  the  sitting 
room. 

"It  is  nicej"  she  admitted,  turning  to  the 
windows. 

"My  spring  fever  has  come,"  Donna  ex- 
plained, beginning  to  put  her  scattered  papers 
out  of  sight.  "It  is  as  regular  as  people's  hay 
fever — don't  you  know  how  that  arrives  to 
the  minute,  on  the  twenty-first  of  August  at 
two  in  the  afternoon,  for  instance?  Mine 

328 


PAUL'S   WIFE 

comes  on  the  first  morning  of  real  spring  and 
lasts  for  ten  days  exactly.  It's  clothes,  with 
me.  I  can't  think  of  anything  else.  Char- 
lotte, they  make  my  heart  beat!  Truly.  Do 
you  have  it,  too?" 

"I  think  I  get  the  perambulator  fever,  about 
this  time."  Charlotte  still  kept  her  face 
turned  away.  "I  can't  get  past  a  baby  car- 
riage without  putting  my  head  in." 

"I  wonder  what  fever  Paul  gets?"  Donna 
went  on.  "He  had  been  rather  crazy,  lately, 
anyway — wasn't  he  funny,  Sunday  night?  I 
have  never  seen  him  so  wildly  gay." 

"What  do  you  hear  from  Lorrimer?" 
abruptly. 

"Why,  I  don't.  I  have  only  had  a  note  or 
two  since  he  left."  Donna's  voice  had  be- 
come faintly  conscious.  "I  can't  believe  that 
work  is  keeping  him  there  two  months;  I 
think  it  must  be  the  charms  of  Washington. 
Do  you  know  if  Lanse  has  had  any  more 
news?"  she  added,  as  Charlotte  did  not  speak. 

"Oh,  yes.  Harrison  liked  the  play  enor- 
mously, and  wants  to  see  his  next.  He  almost 
took  it."  Charlotte  spoke  absently,  then 
turned  away  from  the  window  with  a  deep 
breath  of  resolution.  "Donnaj  I  had  a  visit 

329 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

from  Paul  last  night.  He  said  he  had  written 
you.  You  didn't  get  the  letter?" 

"No,"  with  quick  apprehension. 

"I  thought  it  would  have  come.  Donna 
dear,  he  is  going  to  be  married."  She  leaned 
her  forehead  against  the  casement  and  waited 
till  the  other  moved.  When  at  last  Donna 
lifted  her  head,  their  eyes  met  in  a  long  look. 

"He  would  never  have  cared  that  way  for 
either  of  us^"  said  Donna  quietly. 

"No.  I  always  knew  it.  That  was  what 
saved  me  from — I  wondered  if  you  knew  it." 

"Yes — dimly.  I  didn't  think  much.  It 
was  marvellous  enough  to  get  what  I  did  get. 
That  is  what  it  has  meant,  of  course — his  wild 
spirits." 

"Yes.  I  suspected — he  was  out  of  town  so 
much.  She  must  be  glorious,  by  what  he 
says.  Do  you  want  to  hear  about  her?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Well,  Paul  says  he  saw  her  come  into  a 
room,  and  his  first  thought  was,  'Straight  from 
Olympus!'  She  was  big  and  serene  and  very 
beautiful.  Then  some  one  introduced  them, 
and  his  next  thought  was,  'Simple  comme 
bonjourf  She  was  as  simple  and  straight  and 
open  as  some  lovely  creature  who  had  never 

330 


PAUL'S  WIFE 

known  man.  It  was  fairly  massive,  her  sim- 
plicity, yet  there  was  a  sort  of  sweet-lipped 
gaiety — that's  what  he  called  it — that  brought 
her  very  humanly  close.  He  says  his  third 
conscious  thought  was,  'I  am  going  to  marry 
you;'  and  that  it  has  never  left  his  mind  for 
one  instant,  day  or  night,  since.  She  is  very 
poor;  her  father  is  a  broken  down  old  scholar, 
and  they  live  in  a  broken  down  old  house  full 
of  rare  books." 

Donna  had  listened  dejectedly.  "Does  she 
do  things?"  she  asked. 

"Sings;  and  is  a  wonderful  housewife.  Her 
mother  was  a  well  known  German  singer,  and 
brought  her  up  on  the  ancestral  plan.  There 
is  a  least  touch  of  foreignness  in  her  voice, 
Paul  says ;  and  she  has  big,  lovely  white  hands, 
like  a  goddess — she  is  ample,  and  maternal, 
and  heavenly  sweet.  Really  good  enough^  I 
honestly  believe!" 

"It  is  possible,"  Donna  admitted  heavily. 
"With  all  his  craziness,  Paul  was  so  wise." 

Charlotte  shivered,  then  laughed  protest- 
ingly.  "We  musn't  take  the  past  tense  about 
him,"  she  explained.  "He  isn't  dead,  Donna. 
He  is  our  Paul  still." 

"H'ml"    It  was  a  cynical  assent.    Charlotte 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

started  to  argue  the  point,  then,  forgetting  to 
finish,  came  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
shoulder. 

"It  isn't  going  to  be  so  very  bad,  is  it?"  she 
asked.  Donna  smiled. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right  1  It  has  cured  my  spring 
fever,  that's  all.  One  is  like  a  person  who 
never  even  dreamed  he  should  go  to  heaven, 
anyway,"  she  went  on  with  quaint  frankness. 
"One  isn't  disappointed.  And  yet,  of  course, 
if  ever,  by  a  miracle,  the  golden  gates  had 
been  swung  open  in  one's  face — well,  one  isn't 
a  fool!" 

"One  certainly  isn't,"  said  Charlotte,  kiss- 
ing her.  "Don't  you  want  to  come  out  and  do 
something?" 

"No ;  I  will  wait  for  Paul's  letter.  It  will 
probably  come  on  the  second  delivery."  They 
walked  slowly  together  to  the  door,  loath  to 
separate.  As  they  opened  it,  a  boy  confronted 
them  with  a  telegram.  Donna  read  it,  then 
handed  it  without  comment  to  Charlotte. 

"Coming  home  tomorrow.    L.  F." 

Charlotte  returned  it  in  silence  and  rang 
for  the  elevator.  When  it  arrived,  she  looked 
back  with  the  gleam  of  a  smile  in  her  eyes. 

332 


PAUL'S  WIFE 

"Evidently  Lorrimer  has  heard  the  news," 
she  observed,  then  disappeared  into  the  car. 

Donna's  answer  to  Paul's  letter — sent  him 
by  messenger — was  so  inspired,  so  genuine  in 
its  warmth,  so  gay  and  kind,  and  touched  with 
so  fine  a  thrill,  that  Paul  dropped  his  work 
and  ran  to  her  in  a  spring  tumult  of  feelings. 
The  exaltation  of  her  writing  mood  was  still 
on  her;  they  met  up  in  high,  bright  regions 
where  friendship  was  golden  romance,  and  joy 
in  another's  joy  was  a  full  feast.  Paul  walked 
excitedly  about  the  room  and  she  watched 
him  from  her  corner  with  lighted  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks. 

"Donna,  you  don't  know!  To  have  found 
the  perfect  thing,  to  get  marriage  without  one 
little  inch  of  compromise,  of  glossing  over  or 
pretending — !  We  are  not  the  kind  to  go 
blind  in  love,  my  dear;  we  see — oh,  horribly! 
We  may  pretend  we  are  fooled,  to  oblige  our 
senses,  but  we  never  are,  we  never  are!  Heav- 
ens— I  have  been  so  in  love,  several  times,  that 
I  was  bodily  sick^  ready  to  die  for  the  lady 
of  the  moment,  and  all  the  time  my  mind  sat 
up  there  and  said,  'Really,  you  know,  she's  a 
commonplace  little  dub;  you  are  just  pretend- 
ing to  find  value  in  her  because  you  like  the 

333 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

line  of  her  chin  or  the  nape  of  her  silly  neck.7 
And  it  was  true!  I  suppose  that  is  what  has 
saved  me,  kept  me  till  I  found  Lucia.  We 
are  wise,  Donna;  that  is  what  makes  us  Us, 
I  think — with  all  our  folly,  we're  wise  at  life. 
Why,  take  you — you're  one  of  the  wisest  per- 
sons I  have  ever  known!  Young  and  im- 
pulsive and  quick  blooded,  full  of  talent  and 
all  that  that  means,  but  fundamentally,  sound- 
ly wise.  It's  like  a  thoroughbred  horse,  who 
goes  mad  at  a  bit  of  paper,  but  is  steady  in  a 
bad  place.  At  least,  they  say  he  is! 

"Charlotte  is  wise,  too.  Ah,  she  was  so 
wonderful,  Donna,  when  I  went  to  tell  her! 
It  was  terribly  hard  to  tell  you  all — did  you 
know  that?  I  felt  that,  till  you  knew  Lucia, 
you  would  think  that  it  meant  losing  me — 
just  as,  if  you  or  Charlotte  had  married,  I 
should  have  gone  blue  for  weeks.  I  couldn't 
lead  up  to  it.  I  said,  'Charlotte,  I  have  found 
her.'  And  she  said,  *O  Paul,  how  beautiful!' 
And  then  we  fell  on  each  other's  necks.  I 
think  we  both  cried! 

"My  dear,  you  mustn't  think,  even  in  your 
secret  heart,  'Here  is  an  end  to  Paul.'  It  is 
the  beginning  of  Paul!  Loving  like  this 
doesn't  weaken  other  affections — it  quickens 

334 


PAUL'S  WIFE 

and  deepens  them.  And  when  you  know 
Lucia — !  Here  I  am  rattling  on  like  a  luna- 
tic. What  years  of  good  talk  we  have  had! 
They  say  that  the  glory  goes  off  talk,  in  time; 
that  after  ten  years  or  so  of  passionate  conver- 
sation, you  settle  some  things  and  give  up 
others  and  get  lazy  at  discussion;  but  I  don't 
believe  that  will  be  true  of  Us.  I  can  see  us 
all  rising  up  in  our  grave  clothes  if  an  enticing 
topic  were  thrown  over  the  churchyard  wall! 

"Donna,  you  are  really  glad,  aren't  you?" 

''Oh,  so  glad,  Paul!" 

"And  it  isn't  going  to  make  any  difference?" 

Her  true,  unafraid  eyes  looked  straight  into 
his. 

"It  will  make  differences.  But  no  differ- 
ence in  what  I  feel  for  you!  Oh,  not  one 
atom !" 

"Ah,  then  it  will  all  come  right."  He  took 
both  her  hands  and  kissed  her.  "Bless  you, 
Donna." 

"Give  my  love  to  Lucia/'  she  said. 

The  door  closed  upon  him,  and,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  news  had  come,  Donna  was 
free  to  turn  to  herself.  She  knew  that,  when 
the  excitement  sank,  the  hurt  would  be  un- 
covered, if  hurt  there  was^  and  she  waited 

335 


passively,  dreading  the  sudden  drop  to  per- 
sonal grieving,  the  dull  gray  clouding  of  her 
sky,  still  so  clear  and  luminous.  Sooner  or 
later  she  must  suffer,  and  she  would  not  try 
to  stave  it  off  with  distractions.  Her  cheeks 
cooled,  but  the  exaltation,  instead  of  dying 
down,  seemed  to  be  taking  on  the  aspect  of 
something  serene  and  lasting;  she  looked  out 
over  all  their  lives  as  from  a  high  window  of 
the  soul,  and  saw  that  they  were  good.  Their 
friendships  still  lived,  untarnished  in  their 
romance.  Through  all  change,  these  would 
still  mean  glorious  meetings1  richness  of  ex- 
perience. 

"I  shall  marry,  too,"  she  thought  with  a 
leap  of  pulses.  A  curious  freedom  came 
with  loss.  She  had  discovered  it  after  Lorri- 
mer's  departure  for  Washington,  when  she 
realized  for  the  first  time  how  she  daily  stayed 
in  or  hurried  home,  not  to  miss  his  visits. 
Some  such  unrecognized  constraint  had  kept 
her  thoughts  away  from  marriage  so  long  as 
Paul  was  free.  Now  the  need  of  love,  un- 
checked, rose  up  like  great,  unfolding  wings. 

"I  shall  marry,  too,"  she  repeated,  for  the 
joy  of  the  echo  in  her  blood.  Then  she  shiv- 
ered. "Ohj  but  it  will  hurt  tomorrow!" 

336 


Donna  came  reluctantly  back  into  the  world 
the  next  morning  after  a  very  few  hours  of 
sleep.  The  great  disaster  had  happened;  and 
today  it  must  be  faced  in  cold  blood. 

"Paul  is  going  to  be  married,"  she  said  aloud, 
slowly  and  distinctly,  and  waited  to  be  over- 
whelmed. A  moment  later  she  caught  her- 
self admiring  the  colors  of  a  broken  beam  of 
light  that  fell  across  her  white  counterpane 
and  wondering  what  train  Lorrimer  would 
take.  "I  don't  realize  it  yet/'  she  decided. 
"One  is  numb,  at  first."  She  felt  a  gentle  mel- 
ancholy, an  elderly  detachment  from  the  joy- 
ous fret  of  spring,  as  well  as  a  great  bodily 
weariness;  her  muscles  ached  as  though  she 
had  been  climbing  a  mountain;  but  a  deter- 
mined visualizing  of  the  beloved  Lucia, 
straight  from  Olympus  and  heavenly  sweet, 
brought  eager  hope  rather  than  the  expected 
stab.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  they  were  going 
to  gain  and  love  her,  too}  instead  of  losing 
Paul.  A  great  stone  had  crashed  into  happy 
waters,  but  already  the  waters  had  begun  to 
accept  its  presence  and  settle  round  it.  The 
stone  would  always  be  there,  but  to  future 
years  it  might  appear  an  added  beauty  rather 
than  a  catastrophe. 

337 


THE  TOP  OF  THE   MORNING 

"I  could  adjust  to  anything,"  she  thought 
with  a  touch  of  self-scorn.  Then  she  remem- 
bered that  she  had  a  time  table  showing 
Washington  trains,  and  jumped  up  to  find  it. 

A  sad  hearted  pilgrimage  after  a  spring 
suit  seemed  the  best  way  to  get  rid  of  the 
morning,  for,  though  the  fever  had  gone,  one 
still  had  to  be  clothed,  and  the  new-born 
spring  was  again  twittering  of  dress — of  cool, 
distinguished  grey  woolens,  and  cordial  tans, 
and  the  ever  satisfactory  blue  serge.  Donna 
hurried  over  her  dressing;  if  one  were  going 
to  shop  at  all,  it  might  as  well  be  early,  before 
the  crowds  started.  She  took  her  check  book 
with  her  as  well  as  a  full  purse,  feeling  a  dim 
right  to  any  comfort  that  recklessness  might 
bring. 

Once  started,  she  bought  lavishly,  and 
finally  hurried  home  with  an  armful  of  finery 
to  be  put  on  at  once,  as  part  of  the  comforting 
process.  The  last  button  was  scarcely  ad- 
justed when  Ffloyd  came. 

He  had  hurried  straight  up  from  the  train, 
touchingly  distressed  and  cindery  and  obliv- 
ious of  self;  and  his  compassion  reminded  her 
so  acutely  of  her  unhappiness  that  she  became 
pale  and  grave  before  it,  and  gave  him  a  pas- 

338 


PAUL'S   WIFE 

sive  hand,  most  unlike  her  usual  active  clasp. 

"May  I  come  in,  Donna?  Or  would  you 
rather  I  went  away?"  he  began,  without 
spoken  greeting. 

"I  would  rather  you  came  in,  Lorrimer," 
she  said;  and  then  the  echo  of  her  own  sad 
voice  smote  sharply  on  her  native  honesty. 
She  had  been  humming  ten  minutes  before, 
and  she  knew  it.  "It's  awfully  good  to  see 
you,"  she  added  with  a  laugh  and  a  brisk 
change  of  tone,  curling  up  into  her  accus- 
tomed corner  of  the  couch.  "Sit  down  and 
tell  me  things."  Ffloyd,  instead  of  drawing 
up  the  leather  chair  that  was  called  "his," 
stood  unhappily  before  her. 

"Don't  bluff  with  me,  please!"  he  begged. 
"I  can't  help  knowing — can  I? — just  what 
you  are  going  through.  I  wanted  to  come  the 
minute  I  got  Paul's  letter,  but  I  had  to  finish 
up  there.  I  want  to  help  you,  Donna.  Good 
God,  don't  I  know  all  about  it!" 

His  vehemence  brought  a  flush  to  her 
cheeks.  Her  eyes  could  not  meet  his.  She 
had  not  seen  Lorrimer  since  the  day  that  be- 
trayed his  secret,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  had 
been  persistently — even  angrily — thrust  from 
her  consciousness. 

339 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

"I  am  not  bluffing,"  she  said,  showing  un- 
wonted difficulty  in  finding  the  right  words. 
"I — I  thought  it  was  going  to  be — just  what 
you  expected.  Well,  then,  a  broken  heart! 
But,  if  it  is — if  it  is — Well,  you  know,  Lorri- 
mer,  this  isn't  the  way  I  should  make  a  heroine 
feel,  under  the  circumstances!" 

It  was  a  Donna-ish  speech,  and  Ffloyd  un- 
expectedly found  himself  smiling.  "How 
would  you  show  her?"  he  asked. 

"Rolling  on  the  floor!  Oh,  gasping.  Inar- 
ticulate cries.  'God,  God!'  Running  things 
into  her  flesh  for  the  relief  of  the  bodily  pain. 
Oh,  I  know  all  about  that,"  she  ended,  so  com- 
placently that  Ffloyd  laughed  as  he  had  not  in 
two  months. 

"O  Donnie,  it  is  good  to  get  you  back,"  he 
exclaimed.  "And  you  are  not  doing  any  of 
those  things?" 

She  hesitated,  then  it  came  with  a  rush: 
"Lorrimer,  I  am  buying  clothes  and — and  lik- 
ing 'em!"  Her  upturned  face  was  so  humor- 
ously ashamed,  so  reluctantly  honest,  that  he 
bent  impulsively  towards  it;  then  swung  away 
and  drew  up  the  leather  chair  with  a  mighty 
push. 
,  "I  don't  understand  it  one  bit,"  he  pro- 

349 


PAUL'S   WIFE 

tested;  but  he  looked  like  one  from  whom  a 
huge  burden  had  been  lifted. 

"Well,  I  didn't  myself,  at  first,"  she  ad- 
mitted slowly.  "But  I  think  it  is  sort  of  this 
way:  the  hero,  the  prince,  rides  down  the 
street,  and  the  populace  runs  along  and  cheers 
and  is  ready  to  follow  him  or  die  for  him  or 
anything:  he  is  their  herOj  their  beloved,  if 
you  like;  but  they  don't  expect  things  for 
themselves  from  him.  Does  that  make  any 
sense?  I'm  the  peasant  girl  in  the  crowd,  you 
see:  I  can  love  him,  and  shout  for  him,  and 
yet  go  happily  about  my  churning  after  he 
has  ridden  on.  I  can  even  shout  for  his  prin- 
cess! Do  you  understand?" 

His  face  saddened.  "What  if  the  prince 
had  had  sense  enough  to  discover  you  among 
the  peasants?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  well,  they  don't,  as  a  rule,"  was  the 
practical  answer.  "They  want  the  blood  royal 
— and  the  touch  of  mystery,  Lorrimer!  We 
who  analyze  ourselves  and  know  all  about  our 
processes — we  haven't  that  final  charm." 

"I  don't  see  it,"  said  Lorrimer  shortly. 

"It  is  true.  And  you  see,  my — churning 
has  kept  me  so  busy  I  I  don't  believe  that 

3411 


THE   TOP   OF   THE    MORNING 

hearts  get  into  much  unnecessary  trouble 
when  one  has  to  work  as  hard  as  I  do." 

"Oh,  don't  they!"  he  returned  with  a  bitter 
significance  that  brought  the  color  back  to  her 
face.  She  turned  hastily  from  the  topic. 

"Tell  me  what  you  were  doing  in  Washing- 
ton," she  commanded. 

"When  Paul's  note  came^  I  was  in  the  act 
of  writing  you  a  long  letter."  She  glanced  at 
him  uneasily,  but  made  no  comment.  "I  came 
across  a  man  there  that  I  used  to  know  and 
like.  Talented  fellow — a  portrait  painter. 
He  is  going  to  Paris  for  two  years,  and  I  have 
agreed  to  go  with  him." 

Donna  had  grown  very  grave.  "I  don't 
like  it  at  all!"  she  said  after  a  long  pause. 

"Well,  it  seemed — about  the  only  thing  to 
do."  Ffloyd's  voice  was  drily  precise.  "We 
took  passage  for  the  twenty- third." 

"Of  this  month?" 

"Yes." 

"Lorrimer!"  It  was  a  frank  wail.  "Oh, 
everything  is  changing  and  getting  hateful! 
I  don't  like  it  I" 

"It  is  part  of  growing  up,  isn't  it?" 

"Then  I  won't  grow  up!" 

"Well,  if  anyone  could  manage  not  toA  it 

342 


PAUL'S  WIFE 

would  be  you/'  he  admitted.  "Will  you  write 
to  me,  Donna?" 

"No,  I  won't." 

He  laughed.  "I  might  as  well  own  up. 
When  I  got  Paul's  note,  my  dear" — he  was 
watching  her  with  a  daring  light  in  his  eyes — 
"I  decided  that  I  could  not  get  away  from 
America  till  autumn,  anyway;  perhaps  not 
till  spring.  So  I  let  another  man  have  my 
berth,  and — here  I  am." 

Donna  returned  the  look  with  unfaltering 
serenity.  "Of  course  you  would  want  to  wait 
and  know  Mrs.  Paul,"  she  explained.  "I  don't 
believe  she  will  take  Paul  away  from  us, 
Lorrimer:  she  sounds  very  lovely.  I  think  we 
are  all  going  to  adore  her." 

"And  she  isn't  going  to  make  any  difference 
to  you?"  he  persisted,  wondering. 

"Yes,  there  will  be  a  difference,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "There  has  been  a  breathlessness — a 
sense  of  dew  and  frost  and  shiny  cobwebs. 
But  that  couldn't  last  forever."  She  drew  a 
deep  breath  that  meant  freedom  and  expand- 
ing life.  "I  think  this  may  mean  that  the 
morning  is  over;  but,  O  Lorrimer,  it  is  going 
to  be  a  wonderful  afternoon!" 

THE  END. 


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